


a monster with his eyes

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Revenge, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Jaskier makes a deal with a demon after parting ways with Geralt, bent on revenge. Things spin out of control and only get worse when Geralt finally catches wind of it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 64
Kudos: 714





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i was inspired to do smth with evil!jaskier after seeing beautiful art on tumblr - linked below - and im very excited for this series bc it's gonna be quite different from my other works - hope y'all end up enjoying it anyway <3
> 
> https://c0ffeebee.tumblr.com/post/190245365437/always-the-ones-you-hold-the-closest-always-the

Geralt stopped by the local inn and paid for two rooms, watching as Cirilla played with the innkeeper’s mutt, a shaggy little thing. He walked over after and crouched down. The dog started barking at him and the innkeeper hurried over.

“Shut up, Pipsqueak!” she said, lifting her hand to smack him.

Geralt stood up and grabbed her wrist. “It’s fine,” he said gruffly. He looked down at Cirilla. “Come on.”

She ruffled Pipsqueak’s fur once more before standing up. Geralt released the innkeeper’s wrist and started down the hall toward their rooms. Cirilla followed after him, her footsteps soft and light.

At least he wouldn’t need to teach her that, one less thing on the long list.

He stopped in front of his room and so did Cirilla. He gestured at the door across the hall. Cirilla hesitated for just a second, wringing her hands. Geralt was not an idiot.

He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Cirilla, do you want to - ”

She was bursting through the door to his room before he’d even finished. He sighed again and went back to tell the innkeeper, but she was insistent on no refunds, which wasn’t surprising but still fuck the old hag. He returned a few minutes later and saw Cirilla on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket.

Geralt nudged her with his foot. “Up,” he commanded and she obeyed quickly. He nodded at the bed.

Cirilla pursed her lips, wringing her gloved hands together. A habit, obviously. “I - I don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” she said, and she sounded genuine, which just made up Geralt’s mind.

“No,” he said gruffly. “Bed.”

She nodded and thankfully didn’t argue, just walked over and sat on the bed.

Geralt walked over and pinched the candle wicks between his fingers, darkening the room. He was still able to see perfectly fine due to his enhanced senses, but he knew Cirilla probably couldn’t. Well, she could if she learned how to wield her power, likely, but not now.

He plopped down on the floor and laid back. The floor was hard, but the blanket dampened the discomfort a bit.

After a few seconds he felt something soft and fluffy hit him in the chest. “Wh - ”

“A pillow,” Cirilla said in the dark.

The bed - the room - only came with one pillow. Geralt hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“I have the bed,” she answered. “It’s the fairest thing to do.”

Geralt thought there was nothing fair about the world, but he didn’t say that. Cirilla had been through so much yet a part of her still obviously believed in good, and Geralt respected that. He never understood how people could do that, just keep hoping and believing in themselves and others.

_Like Jaskier,_ his brain supplied out of nowhere. He frowned and stuffed the pillow under his head. He hadn’t seen - or heard from - Jaskier in months, not since their departure on the mountain.

He had no doubts the bard was okay. He’d always survived on his own just fine. But still new evils were lurking in the world and he couldn’t help thinking how easily Jaskier could be killed, taken from this life by a simple blade to the throat or a sword through the gut.

Humans were such fragile creatures and it was something Geralt still feared, one of the only things.

He closed his eyes and sighed, slow and quiet. Surely he’d see him again one day. Sure, they ended things on bad terms last time but that was frankly quite normal for them. They always bickered, but things were always forgotten by the time Geralt saw Jaskier again.

The fool was loyal to a fault, honestly, and just as forgiving. Unless the person was Yennefer in which case he still wasn’t sure why the bard hated her so much. He at first assumed it was because of her attacking him but really, that did no permanent damage and, like he said, Jaskier was a forgiving fellow.

Geralt decided he should ask him next time they see each other. Having tired himself out with silly thoughts, he fell asleep fairly quickly after that, to the sounds of Cirilla’s soft snores.

Geralt woke up to loud banging that he quickly realized was someone at the door, knocking insistently. He looked over at Cirilla just as she woke up, hugging the blanket to her chest like it would do anything to protect her.

“Get under the bed,” he commanded gruffly and she quickly climbed off the bed, wiggling underneath it.

Grabbing his sword, he walked to the door and grabbed the handle, counting to three before he threw it open, expecting something - anything - but what he saw: Yennefer, standing there, hands contorted in what looked like an unnatural position.

“Oh,” she said, lowering her hands. “I was about to - ”

Geralt knew without her telling him. “Spell the door open?”

Yennefer shrugged primly and pushed past him, entering the room. Geralt caught sight of Cirilla peeking out from under the bed, an odd look on her face, and sighed.

“Ciri, you can show yourself,” he said.

Yennefer looked at him oddly before Cirilla started to wiggle out from under the bed and she suddenly had all of Yennefer’s attention. “Who is this?” she asked before answering her own question, “Ciri, like Cirilla? Of Cintra?”

Geralt watched as Cirilla predictably and understandably stiffened, looking at Geralt for help. He stepped forward, closing the door with his foot.

“She’s not interested in you, Cirilla,” he said gruffly. “Not in that way, at least.”

Cirilla nodded sharply and looked up at Yennefer. “Who are you?” she asked and Geralt had almost forgotten but now remembered how Cirilla had asked about Yennefer, all those months ago when they’d first met in the woods.

“Yennefer,” she said, smiling a little too sweetly for Geralt’s liking, “but you can call me Yen.”

Cirilla’s eyes widened as she moved closer, looking at Yennefer like she herself was magic, the answer to all her questions. “You’re - you’re Yennefer? You’re a mage, right?”

“I prefer sorceress, but yes,” she answered in mild amusement. “Why?”

Geralt sighed loudly, interrupting. “Yen,” he said gruffly. “What are you doing here? And better yet how did you even find us?”

Yennefer glanced over at him with an almost bored look. “Really? You’re asking how I, a sorceress, found you?” She stepped closer to him and snapped her fingers and he watched as a string of light appeared, connecting them. She grinned like a shark. “I put a tracking spell on you last time we…” Her eyes fluttered in Cirilla’s direction. “Well, you know.”

Angry was an understatement. He stepped toward her. “Yen, what the fuck?”

“Watch it, Geralt,” she said, enjoying herself way too much. “There’s a child present.” Yennefer looked over at Cirilla and clicked her tongue. “You should really find a better travel companion.”

“ _Yen_ ,” he repeated, firmer. “Just tell me what you’re doing here.”

She turned away from the young girl and fixed Geralt with an unexpected glare as if he shouldn’t be the one feeling angry and betrayed. “I just have one question for you, Geralt of Rivia,” she said his name and title like the words tasted bad on her tongue, “do you know where your little bard friend has been the last few months?”

Geralt was thrown by the question, genuinely not expecting it. Cirilla looked at him in obvious confusion and for good reason - Geralt had never mentioned Jaskier to her, never saw the point. He assumed one day they’d meet on their own, anyway.

“Uh, no,” he answered honestly, coming back to himself. “We had a fight when we were up on the mountain, after the dragon - ”

Cirilla gasped lightly. “Dragons are real?” she asked in a whisper.

Geralt barreled on. He could answer all her questions later. “I told him off and we went our separate ways. Haven’t seen him in months,” he admitted and for some reason saying the words out loud made him feel guilty.

Yennefer looked away, folding her arms over her chest. She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Have you heard the rumors of the burning town?”

“What?” he asked.

She glared at him, fire in her eyes. “There is a town that’s been burning, on fire, for three months straight. A few mages have been sent to check it out, but when - _if_ \- they return, it's with burns and no answers.”

“Are you asking me to go and kill or find whatever’s doing it?” he asked.

Yennefer licked her lips and smiled, almost cruel. “No, I don’t need your help finding it or figuring out what it is,” she said, “because one of the last mages we sent was able to give us a description of the monster.”

Geralt nodded, setting his sword down. “So what? You want me to kill it?”

“Hmm, I wish,” she answered tersely, “but I actually don’t think you’re capable of it.”

Something hot burned in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. “I can kill anything,” he said. Well, any monster and only if he deemed them worthy of such a punishment.

“Right, well,” Yennefer uncrossed her arms. “Do you think you can kill Julian Alfred Pankratz?” she asked, and Geralt froze, feeling like cold water had just been poured over him.

Cirilla stepped forward and peered up at him, obviously curious and maybe just a touch worried. “Geralt? Who - who’s that?”

He gulped, a sudden lump forming in his throat, which just made him think of Jaskier and the Djinn, which made him feel even more unsteady. He reached out and grabbed the post of the bed, holding on so tight the wood cracked a little. “Yen, what are you talking about?”

“The description of the monster, Geralt, was a man wearing a bard’s costume.”

Geralt swallowed thickly and looked at her. “That doesn’t mean it’s him,” he argued and he truly believed it for that one, blissful second. Jaskier was many things, but violent - a killer? No way.

“The mage said he was wearing a red jacket,” she continued and Geralt remembered vividly what Jaskier had been wearing on their quest for the dragon. “Said he had brown hair, blue eyes - ”

“Enough!” he barked, his whole body shaking with it. He slowly let go of the post, the wood splintered and broken, and turned his whole body toward Yennefer. “I don’t believe it. Your mage, he’s lying.”

Yennefer stared back, not backing down, unflinching. “What would he gain from lying about this, Geralt?” she asked. “It’s Jaskier. I don’t know what happened, but it’s him.”

“It’s not,” Geralt said, too quick. It couldn’t be. Jaskier was not a monster. “How do we know he wasn’t there to help?” he continued, searching for any hope to cling to. “Maybe he was - ”

Yennefer let out a breath. “There’s… something else, Geralt,” she said, interrupting. “The mage said the thing wasn’t human. He was - grotesque. He had the face of a man, but his body, it was… weird, said his torso seemed to be covered in what looked like… eyes?” she said, almost a question because she was far from the monster expert here and knew it.

Geralt gulped, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He felt like he could choke on it. A torso covered in eyes.

“Do you know what we’re dealing with here?” she asked when he didn’t answer.

Geralt looked up. He didn’t want to say it because saying it made it real. Jaskier could be dumb and naive and so many things but there was no way he’d do something like this, not on purpose, at least. Yennefer stared at him expectantly and Cirilla stared, too, though a little more gentle. He cleared his throat.

“Jaskier made a deal with a demon.”


	2. Chapter 2

Yennefer stared at him and he could see the shock in her eyes even if it didn’t show on her face, perfectly schooled. “What kind of demon?” she asked when Geralt didn’t say anything else.

Cirilla looked shocked as she glanced between the two of them, eyes wide, but she didn’t press for any details, probably assumed she didn’t need to when Yennefer was gladly doing it.

“I don’t know,” he replied gruffly. “There’s lots of different kinds, who will grant the person making the deal different things.”

Yennefer scoffed, almost a laugh, as she ran her fingers through her hair, catching a little on a few curls. “Your little bard made a deal with a demon? That’s - ” she laughed again but it was lacking of any real humor “ - unfuckingbelievable.”

“I didn’t know, Yen,” he said, nearly growling, “or I would’ve stopped him.”

“But you didn’t!” she snapped as she stepped forward, her whole face giving away her anger, eyes narrowed, upper lip twitching. “And now more than a few mages are dead!”

Something sharp and pained wedged itself between his ribs. “I’m sorry,” he said genuinely. Humans said witchers didn’t have emotions, but they only said that to make themselves feel better about hating them. Geralt, and every other witcher he’d ever come across, had plenty of emotions. They were muted and maybe more easily ignored than most but they existed and right now guilt was eating away at him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Yennefer stared at him for a moment before taking a step back, her face schooling back into one of perfect calmness and control. Geralt could see right through it but he didn’t say anything. “I’m going out there to kill him, Geralt,” she said simply.

Guilt melted away into something else: pure fury. Without even thinking he was grabbing Yennefer by the front of her dress and glaring down at her. “No you’re not,” he growled.

She wasn’t intimidated by him, never was. “Let me go.” She grabbed his wrists and squeezed with more strength than you’d expect from a woman her size. Geralt snarled but released her, stepping back. “I don’t have a choice. He’s killing people, Geralt.”

“Maybe he didn’t make a deal with a demon,” he said, suddenly backtracking because there was another option too, one he preferred. “A demon could be using him as a vessel,” he explained quickly.

Yennefer pursed her lips and crossed her arms. She looked thoughtful for a second as she considered the new information. “Like me with the djinn?” she asked finally.

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. She was buying it. “Yes, exactly like that,” he said, taking a step closer again. “Jaskier is probably nothing more than a victim, like always. He needs to be saved, not killed.”

For a moment Yennefer just stared at him, silent and calculating. “Do you really believe that, Geralt?” she asked finally.

“I…” he stopped and started again. “I believe it’s a possibility.”

Sighing, Yennefer nodded. “Fine, I’ll try and save him but no promises.” Reaching out, she pushed Geralt out of the way and walked to the door. She didn’t get very far before she was stopped, Geralt’s fingers wrapped around her thin wrist.

“I’m going with you,” he said, the words spilling out before he could even think through what he was saying.

Yennefer raised a dark eyebrow and glanced at the girl. “You, the babysitter?” she asked with just a hint of mocking. “The girl might be strong, Geralt, but you are not bringing an untrained, ticking time bomb with us.”

Geralt squeezed her wrist just on the side of too hard. She frowned. “I can find someone to watch her,” he said, ignoring Cirilla’s hurt look. He felt bad, he did, but he didn’t have a choice. “Jaskier is my friend,” he continued and he idly thought that might’ve been the first time he’d ever really called him friend, out loud at least. “I can’t just abandon him.”

“A second time,” Yennefer said and he blinked, finally letting go her wrist.

“What do you mean?” he asked, searching her face.

Yennefer rubbed at her wrist and with a bit of magic the aching was gone. “You mean, you don’t want to abandon him a second time,” she said and Geralt felt like he’d been hit in the chest. She was right though and that was the worst part. “It was you abandoning him on that mountain that likely got us into this mess.”

Geralt swallowed audibly. “I never meant for anything like this to happen.”

“I know,” she replied easily, “but intentions don’t mean shit.” Her eyes flickered back to the girl and she cleared her throat. “I’ll give you two a moment to talk. I want to leave as soon as possible though so… be quick.” With a curt nod, she turned around and left the room.

Geralt stared at the door for a long, quiet moment. Finally he heard soft footsteps, Cirilla inching closer. She reached out and touched his arm lightly, a curious and vaguely hurt look still on her face.

“You’re leaving me?” she asked. “After we’ve just found each other?”

Geralt looked down at her. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, hard as a rock and uncomfortable. “I don’t have a choice,” he said. “Jaskier… he’s a friend and he can be dumb and impulsive and - ”

“Then why have I never heard of him?” she asked, a bit snappy, interrupting.

Geralt thought that was fair. He hadn’t mentioned him to her even once. He looked away and blinked. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. He had thought of Jaskier a lot, just never mentioned him. “I guess I just always assumed you’d meet him and no words I could use would ever properly explain the bard, anyway.”

Cirilla stared up at him, not a glare exactly but something close. Slowly though she softened and nodded, folding her arms over her chest. “Can I really not go with you? I - I really want to get to know Yennefer too.”

“Not right now, no,” he replied, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Not until we can train more and you can get better control of your powers.”

Cirilla frowned but she didn’t look angry anymore, just disappointed and Geralt knew that look: she was disappointed solely in herself. He squeezed his shoulder, a small comfort. “Is there anyone you can trust to watch over me?” she asked after a while.

Geralt pondered that for a moment. “I have an idea,” he said finally.

Finding her was easy enough with Yennefer’s help; she was staying in a tiny house in a small town, probably recovering after the long battle in Sodden. When she opened the door, her eyes widened.

“Geralt?” she asked, eyes quickly moving to Yennefer. “Yennefer.”

Cirilla was tense under Geralt’s hand, resting on her shoulder. He squeezed, a silent comfort, and she relaxed a little. “Triss,” he greeted tersely. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh. Um, okay,” she stepped out of the way. “Come in.”

Geralt entered first with Cirilla and Yennefer followed after, the two sorceresses exchanging a brief hug. The house, if it could even be called that, really was small. The main living area had a table with a few chairs, at least, so they all sat around it.

Excluding Triss, who lingered, not sitting quite yet. “Do you want some tea?”

Cirilla opened her mouth, but Geralt answered for them, “No, thank you.”

Triss blinked once before nodding and sitting down, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. She looked good, Geralt thought idly, especially after he’d heard about what had happened to her during the battle in Sodden.

“Triss,” Yennefer said, taking charge like she was prone to do, “we need you to watch over Cirilla.”

Her eyes landed on the young girl. “Cirilla, like…” she trailed off, a silent question.

“Yes,” Yennefer confirmed because she knew there was no point in lying. Triss was a talented, smart mage; she would’ve figured it out eventually with or without their help. “Have you heard about the town on fire?”

Triss stiffened, shoulders hitching up to her ears. “Oh, yes,” she said, looking at Yennefer with sad eyes. “I knew one of the mages, who…” she trailed off, letting the implication hang heavy in the air.

Geralt’s stomach churned with something unpleasant. Jaskier was killing people whether he knew it or not, and that was not something he liked to think about. He’d never thought of Jaskier was violent, even, nevertheless a killer. A murderer.

Yennefer reached across the table and took Triss’ hand. Geralt watched, silently surprised, as she squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry.” Triss smiled shakily and she continued, “I want to go and end things. I don’t want any other mages to die.”

“That’s - that’s dangerous though,” she said, eyes growing wide. “Yennefer, you can’t.”

She smiled tightly and leaned back, letting go of her hand. “Someone has to do something,” she said. “And I think that person should be me.”

Geralt cleared his throat. “I will be accompanying her,” he said and at that Triss relaxed, just barely, not because she believed him to be stronger, he knew that, but two was better than one. Strength in numbers. “That’s why I need someone trustworthy to watch over Ciri.”

“I’m not very strong, especially after Sodden,” Triss said, looking between the witcher and sorceress. “I’m afraid you might need someone tougher, just in case.”

Geralt looked down and stared at the back of his hands, the skin heavily scarred from decades of fighting and, so far, winning. “I can think of others, yes, but,” he looked up, “you are one of the only ones I can trust.”

Triss smiled, eyelashes fluttering. She seemed to ponder that for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

Yennefer sighed in relief. Geralt hadn’t even realized she was tense, too, until she no longer was, the sharp lines of her shoulders drooping. He looked over at Cirilla and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“This is Triss. She is a good woman, and a sorceress.”

Cirilla nodded and looked over at her. “Can you teach me a few things?”

“Oh,” Triss said with a bit of a laugh. “I can certainly try, but I’m still recovering.”

Cirilla smiled, just a little. “That’s okay.”

“You can trust her,” Geralt said, drawing her attention back to him. “Trust no one, but her,” he squeezed her shoulder, “do you understand?”

She nodded, staring at him. “I understand,” she confirmed. For a moment she looked so young, like the young girl she should’ve had the chance to be. “When… do you think you’ll be back?”

Geralt sighed, pulling his hand back. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “but Yen and Triss will be able to keep in contact with each other. So.” He nodded. “You’ll know as soon as we’ve finished.”

Cirilla nodded once, squaring her shoulders and looking older. “Go.” She looked at Yennefer. “Revenge those mages,” she said before turning to look at Geralt, softening. “Get your friend back.”

He paused for a second, stuck on that word - friend - before he shook it off and nodded. “Be safe,” he said and wrapped her in a stiff hug, patting her back. He wasn’t used to hugs but he decided, in that moment, they weren’t so bad. Cirilla buried her face in his shoulder and took a deep breath.

“You too,” she mumbled. She pulled back and smiled at Yennefer. “And you.”

Yennefer almost smiled as she pushed her chair back and stood up. Geralt followed her lead. “Thank you, Triss,” she said as she looked walked them to the door. “I know you’re still - ”

Triss waved her off. “You are doing a great thing, Yennefer.” She hugged her again. “Be safe.” She pulled back and engulfed Geralt in a hug next. He stood in her arms, stiff, for a second before slowly returning it. “I will protect the girl,” she whispered. “Don’t you worry.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Pulling back, she smiled. “I’ll see you two soon.”

Yennefer smiled tightly as she turned away and opened a portal. Geralt turned around too. He could feel heat pouring from the portal. She looked at Geralt and nodded once before she stepped through and he followed.

Geralt stepped through the portal and opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. They weren’t in the town, but close enough he could smell and see the smoke filling the air.

His senses, advanced as they were, were a disadvantage for once. He coughed and covered his mouth.

Yennefer stepped in front of him and grabbed his wrist, dragging his hand from his mouth. He went to protest, but she stopped him, “I’m doing a spell that’ll help you,” she said and she was right.

He sniffed once and couldn’t smell anything. Not to mention he didn’t seem to be breathing in the smoke anymore, either, which would’ve turned into a problem, even for a witcher, fairly quickly.

Yennefer sighed and turned around, staring at the outskirts of the town. It really was on fire, flames licking at the sky.

“Do you have a spell you - ” he gestured, indicating them.

She nodded curtly. “I can put a bubble around us. I can’t hold it for too long, a couple hours max, so we need to be quick.” She looked over at him. “Do you think we can do this?”

Geralt was surprised by the question; Yennefer rarely showed doubt in herself. He looked into the fiery town. “We have to try,” he said finally. “Both for your mages, and for Jaskier.”

Yennefer smiled ruefully. “Okay, well. Follow me.”

She led him to the outskirts of the town. Geralt could feel the flames, so close yet not enough to do any real damage. Yennefer grabbed his arm and yanked him closer before performing the spell.

After that he didn’t feel much of anything. Even the air in the bubble was stilted, not freely flowing like outside of it. He had to wonder… “Even if you could hold this for longer, wouldn’t you eventually run out of air?”

Yennefer smiled sharply. “Hmm, probably.”

Geralt sighed, looking ahead as they entered the town, side by side, safely tucked away in Yennefer’s magic. He looked around at all the houses - well, they weren’t houses anymore, just piles of stones and burning wood.

His stomach lurched unpleasantly. He was glad he couldn’t smell anything.

Yennefer suddenly stopped and Geralt barely stopped himself before he ended up stepping outside of the bubble, no doubt scorching himself. He looked over as she crouched down and picked something up.

A ring, he realized, and he hated to ask, “I’m assuming you recognize it?”

Yennefer stood up and cleaned off the ring a little. It was gold but heavily muted by all the dirt. “I do,” she said, uncharacteristically soft. She cleared her throat and pocketed it. “Geralt,” she said, serious, as they began walking again. “If this is Jaskier - ”

He stiffened, fingers twitching at his side. “It’s not.”

Yennefer sighed. “But if it is,” she said, “what will you do?”

Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. The damned thing made him think of Jaskier and the Djinn. “I don’t know,” he said eventually because that was the truth. “I can’t kill him, Yen,” he added after a beat.

“I know,” she said. “I never doubted that, but…” Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and stopped. He stopped too, turning to face her. “Could you stand back and let me do it?”

Geralt’s skin prickled. “What?” he asked, disbelieving. “You’re not suggesting I stand by and let you murder him,” he said. “Right?”

“He’s killing people, Geralt,” she said, not harsh but firm. “Innocents. Do you think this is just about the mages?” Geralt looked away, not saying a word. She sighed heavily. “This town was populated before the fire began, Geralt. Innocents died too.”

He was no idiot, he knew that but hearing it - connecting it all - made him feel sick. “If it is him… something’s wrong. He would never do this of his own accord, Yen.” He looked at her. “You have to believe me on that.”

Yennefer stared back at him. “I’ve never seen you so desperate,” she said. Geralt shrugged sharply; he had no response for that. He couldn’t deny it. “I won’t attack him on sight,” she said, like it was a perfectly good compromise, “but that’s all I’m promising.”

Geralt knew, deep down, that was more than he - or Jaskier - deserved. “Okay,” he agreed with a nod.

Turning to face the front, she began walking again.

Geralt grew suspicious by the time they’d reached the center of the town and there was no sign of Jaskier. Yennefer stopped near a well and peered down it, Geralt keeping watch.

“Nothing,” she said with a frown. “We have to keep searching.”

Geralt looked over at her. “Yen, I… I have a bad feeling about this.”

Yennefer raised her eyebrows. “Which part?” she asked, turning to face him.

“All of it,” he answered honestly. “I feel like we’re walking into a trap.”

Yennefer hmmed, folding her arms over her chest and looking around. “Is your little bard smart enough for something like that?”

“Normally?” Geralt asked. “Who knows, but right now it’s a real possibility he’s either working with - ” the words, the admission, left a sour taste in his mouth “ - or possessed by a demon, so.” He shrugged. “I can’t really answer that.”

Yennefer nodded curtly. She poked at the invisible bubble of magic. “I won’t be able to hold out for much longer,” she said. “But if we can find a safe spot, we can wait things out for a bit, let me recharge.”

Geralt looked around. Most of everything was on fire, burning bright. “Wait,” he said, grabbing her arm and pointing. “Look, there - ”

It wasn’t a house, not even, but a covered pen for farm animals. It wouldn’t add much protection, especially if the fire spread, but it was better than standing out in the open like sitting ducks.

She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Follow me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Yennefer led them to the covered pen and they stepped over the gate blocking the entrance. She removed the bubble as soon as they were safely inside and walked over, plopping down on a pile of hay. Geralt noticed, idly, that her hands were shaking.

He then subsequently noticed the smell and covered his nose, sitting across from her. “How the fuck is this not making you want to puke?” he asked gruffly. He could handle the smell of monsters and their decaying bodies but this was just _disgusting_.

“Mmm,” she said, curling her hands in her lap. “Used to it.”

Geralt blinked once, genuinely surprised by the admission. “You’re used to… the smell of an animal pen?” He tried picturing Yennefer, at any point in her life, working on a farm and couldn’t.

Yennefer sighed softly and looked up. “Before I became _this_ \- ” she gestured vaguely at herself “ - I was adopted by a family. Farmers.”

“Oh,” he said, at a loss for words.

She shrugged and rubbed her hands together. It obviously wasn’t cold, not with all the fire, but it was something to do. “Do you know anything about Jaskier?” she asked, changing the subject.

Geralt was, once again, surprised. “Not… much,” he answered honestly. “We don’t talk much about his family or anything.”

“Hmm,” she sighed.

Geralt sat up straighter. “Do you hear that?” he asked in a hushed voice. Yennefer looked at him oddly and shook her head. “There’s something…” Geralt stood up and started searching the pen, throwing things out of the way.

Yennefer stood up and walked over. “What are you looking for?”

“I think there’s something… I can hear something.” Geralt kicked a pile of hay out of the way and paused.

Yennefer looked over his shoulder. “ _Oh_ ,” she breathed simply.

The ground had been scorched, badly, and in the middle was Jaskier’s lute, nearly destroyed. He crouched down; the sound was one of the strings slowly breaking. Geralt reached out and touched it with light fingers and the string finally broke entirely with a loud snap.

Yennefer crouched with him. “This isn’t a good sign, is it?” she asked, searching his face. “Jaskier would never let this happen to his lute,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She didn’t know Jaskier half as well as Geralt and yet she knew that for certain.

“I told you,” Geralt said gruffly, “this _isn’t_ Jaskier.”

Yennefer stared at him for a long, silent moment. “I want to believe you, I do, but we don’t know that, Geralt. We have to be prepared for the worst.”

“I know!” he snapped before taking a deep breath. “Just - recharge or whatever you need to do.” Geralt sat down and gingerly lifted Jaskier’s lute into his lap. He ran his fingers over the remaining strings, heart tugging with despair. He hadn’t felt that emotion so strongly in years.

Yennefer sat down a few feet away from him and closed her eyes.

Yennefer opened her eyes again just as Geralt stood up. “You felt that too?” she asked, standing up and peeking out of the pen. She surveyed the area briefly before turning back to Geralt.

“It felt like a mild explosion,” he said. “It could’ve just been - ”

“Come on,” she interrupted, grabbing him by the arm. She reset the protective bubble as they stepped out of the pen. “You know,” she said as they walked slowly, searching for the source of the explosion, “you’re not usually like this, talking about ”it could be“, ”might not be“.”

Geralt frowned, following close to her. “Just say it.”

Yennefer shrugged sharply. “You have stronger feelings for the bard than I originally anticipated,” she said. “I knew you two were… friends despite all your bickering, but I didn’t think convincing you to kill him would be so difficult.”

He laughed harshly. “Wow, thanks for thinking so highly of my morals.”

“Shut up and let me finish,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt quickly looked over at her. “I - okay,” he said. Yennefer did not apologize often. “Okay,” he repeated quietly, looking back ahead. “I just don’t want to kill him if he’s innocent, Yen.”

“You don’t want to kill him,” she said, surprisingly soft, “ _at all_.”

Geralt shrugged with a grunt; he couldn’t possibly argue with that. He would rather lose his own foot than kill Jaskier. He didn’t have many people he felt that way with; Yennefer, to a degree but she would never need his saving, not like that, and Cirilla.

And the human, Jaskier. The human he never intended to befriend or even meet. Destiny was a load of bullshit, he truly believed that, but some people perhaps really were bonded from birth, just waiting to meet.

“Geralt!” she hissed, grabbing his arm and breaking him out of his thoughts.

She pointed but she didn’t need to; Geralt’s eyes were already trained on the burning body. Not dead, but burning like the body itself was made out of fire. Geralt couldn’t tell who it was, the fire blocking any discernible features, but they were far off in the distance, staring at one of the many burning houses.

“What do we do?” he asked in a harsh whisper, pulling Yennefer behind a shed.

She looked thoughtful for a moment. “None of the mages described something looking like that,” she said and she almost sounded worried, which was so unlike her Geralt became worried too. “I - I don’t know.”

“Maybe there’s more than one?” he suggested quietly.

Yennefer shrugged sharply. “Maybe, but that’ll just make things more dangerous. We weren’t prepared for this.”

Geralt grabbed her by the shoulders. “We can do this, Yen. Just relax.”

She stared at him and took one deep breath. Squaring her shoulders, she smacked Geralt’s hands away. “I know,” she said, back to herself. “Just give me a minute to think.”

“Wait,” Geralt said. “Can you do anything with - with water?”

Yennefer furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

He jutted a thumb behind him. “The well,” he said and her eyes lit up. “We can douse the bastard and see what happens.”

“But if he’s made out of fire…” she said slowly.

“It might kill him,” he finished for her.

Yennefer stared at him. “And if that _thing_ is Jaskier…” she trailed off.

“It’ll kill him,” he finished for her again.

Yennefer looked hesitant. “But you’re sure you want to do this?” she pressed, searching his face. “We can find another way.”

“We need to do something before - ” he peeked out from around the building, careful not too get too close to the fire “ - that thing disappears.”

Yennefer nodded curtly. “Okay. But I won’t be able to keep this up - ” she gestured at their bubble of safety “ - and do that at the same time. And you’ll need to run out there and distract that thing so I can get to the well and cast the spell.”

Geralt nodded back. “How long will the spell take?”

“A minute or two tops,” she answered and the bubble dropped around them, exposing them to the elements again. “But I have no doubt you can handle that,” she added with a bit of a smirk. “Big, strong witcher.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just move,” he grumbled, pushing her out of the way. “I’ll run out and get his attention. You move quickly after that, okay?”

“Mhmm,” she agreed.

Geralt closed his eyes for just a second and took a deep breath, preparing himself. He wasn’t so scared of the monster; he had probably defeated worse but knowing what Yennefer was going to do - what that might mean for Jaskier - was terrifying.

He opened his eyes and ran out from behind the building, sword drawn. The fiery monster didn’t even notice him at first. Geralt frowned and clanked his sword against the burning building beside him. The monster startled and for that second he reminded him of a human.

His stomach lurched painfully. “Jaskier,” he whispered right before the monster rushed him, running at an unnatural speed. Geralt jumped back and lifted his sword.

The monster reached out with a hand and grasped his sword like it was nothing. Geralt growled and ripped his sword free, jumping back a few feet. The monster stared at him and if he looked hard enough he could almost see through the fire.

Two beady, dark eyes stared back at him, unfeeling and blank.

Geralt’s skin prickled. That was _not_ Jaskier. “Come get me, you fucker,” he growled and rushed toward it.

The monster let out a howl and extended his arm, knocking Geralt away with unexpected strength. He gasped as he went flying back, hitting the ground with a huff of pain. His sword flew out of his grip, spinning and stopping a few feet away.

“Fuck,” he breathed just as the monster stopped in front of him. Geralt looked behind it; Yennefer was at the well and watching him with wide eyes. He growled. “Do it!”

She startled visibly and went back to doing the spell but the monster wasn’t dumb; it turned around and wailed like a child, rushing Yennefer before she could finish. Geralt cursed and jumped to his feet, snatching his sword up.

“Yen!” he yelled.

Yennefer was no damsel in distress though and he knew that. She threw her hands up and knocked the monster back with a blast. The monster yelped in pain and tried again. She tried to knock him back again but it was too strong and broke through.

Geralt saw red. “ _Stop!_ ”

The monster swiped at her stomach, breaking skin with a terrible ripping sound. Geralt stood, frozen, and watched as blood bubbled to the surface, staining her dress. Her scream of pain brought him back to life.

He rushed forward, sword drawn and aiming for the monster’s middle. It turned right before he reached it and screeched, knocking him back with just the force of his scream. Geralt groaned, ears ringing, and looked at Yen, on the floor, gasping and covering the large cuts on her stomach. He wondered briefly if even a sorceress could recover from that but he didn’t have to time to ponder for too long.

“Fuck you,” he hissed. “I don’t know what you are but you are not Jaskier.”

The monster stepped forward, slow and threatening. Geralt gripped the hilt of his sword.

“And I’m not fucking scared of you,” he continued, rushing forward. He swung his sword and it connected with the monster’s arm, slicing through it. The arm fell to the ground and sizzled out.

The monster pulled back, letting out a pitiful cry. Geralt growled.

“I don’t fucking pity you, either,” he hissed, taking a step forward with each step the monster took back. Geralt lifted his sword again. “Fucking die,” he said, full of emotion, as he started to bring his sword down, cutting through the air.

“Stop!” Yennefer yelled and he did almost instantly, drawing his sword back.

The monster took the chance and tackled Geralt, grabbing him by his arms. His sword fell again and he gasped as the monster’s fire burned his skin. He could handle many forms of pain but fire was one of his least favorites. The monster straddled him to the ground, holding him down with inhuman strength. He yelled into his face, nothing coherent, and squeezed his arms so hard Geralt groaned.

He saw black for a split second before regaining his senses. “Yen…” he breathed, turning his head to see Yen standing up, leaning heavily on the well, starting the spell over. He swallowed thickly and looked back into the face of the monster. “Jaskier,” he whispered, low enough he hoped Yennefer couldn’t hear. “This isn’t you. This _can’t_ be you… right?”

The monster yelled louder and his ears rung painfully.

“Okay!” Yennefer shouted just before water came raining down over them, soaking both the monster and Geralt.

The monster yelped and jumped off Geralt, scrambling back a few feet. It landed on the ground and curled up in a ball, whimpering. Geralt barely realized Yennefer was standing over him until she offered him a hand and he took it, slowly getting to his feet.

He looked at her stomach, which was only half-healed. “You okay?”

She smiled tightly. “I’m surviving,” she answered truthfully before looking at the monster. Geralt followed her gaze and watched as the monster slowly sizzled out, revealing underneath the fiery flames an ordinary man. But not just any man.

Geralt took a shaky breath. “Jaskier,” he said.

Jaskier looked the same for the most part but his cheeks were black from soot and there was indeed something odd about his torso, full of red eyes blinking back at the two of them. Geralt took a hesitant step forward and Yen grabbed his arm.

“Wait,” she said. “Jaskier, is that you?” she called, eyeing him skeptically.

Jaskier looked at them then and blinked once, slow. “Ger - ” he started before he fell over, landing on the ground in a heap.

Geralt pulled his arm out of Yennefer’s grip and rushed over, crouching beside him. He touched his arm and hissed. “He’s burning up,” he said as Yennefer approached slowly.

“Well, he _was_ just on fire,” she stated blandly.

Geralt glared up at her. “Can you collect more of that water?”

She stared back at him, unblinking, for a second before sighing. “Yes,” she said, walking back to the well. She carried back with her a floating ball of water.

Geralt sat on the ground and pulled Jaskier into his arms, holding him up as she crouched and brought the water closer. “Jaskier,” he said, wiping some of the soot from his cheeks. “Hey, Jaskier.”

He groaned and turned his head away.

“Jaskier,” he repeated. “I just want you to drink some water, okay?”

Jaskier whimpered and slowly opened his eyes. In that moment he was Jaskier, just Jaskier. Geralt had no doubt about it. He beckoned Yennefer closer and she brought the water to Jaskier’s parted lips.

He drank, slow, just a few sips before he turned his head away again.

Yennefer let the rest of the water fall to the ground. Geralt gulped. “What’s going on?” he asked Jaskier. “What was that?”

Jaskier groaned again, closing his eyes. “So - so much. Pain, Geralt,” he moaned and his hands reached up, weakly grasping at the front of Geralt’s shirt. Yennefer watched his every movement with a frown. “I - I didn’t mean to - to do it.”

“It’s okay,” he breathed. “It’s okay, Jaskier. We’ll - ”

But it was pointless; Jaskier was no longer conscious, going limp in his arms. Geralt let out a shaky breath and shifted, pulling him closer. He noticed Yennefer watching him skeptically. “What?” he barked.

“Geralt, this isn’t good,” she said softly. “Jaskier is the monster.”

Geralt grimaced. “Didn’t you hear him?”

“I did,” she said, just as soft. “But that doesn’t answer most of our questions.”

Geralt looked down into Jaskier’s sleeping face. “We should wait, see if he wakes up and then - ”

“Then what?” she interrupted sharply. “Let him attack us again?”

Geralt swallowed thickly. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know,” he repeated weakly. “Yen, we can’t just give up on him.” He looked up at her. “There’s something going on here. You can feel it too, can’t you?”

She stared back. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll wait until he wakes up, but… not here and I want to shackle him up.”

Geralt nodded. He couldn’t argue that. Standing on shaky legs, he picked Jaskier up, cradling him close to his chest. Yennefer stared at them silently, something odd in her eyes, before sighing and turning away.

“Follow me,” she said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder to follow me on twitter @ queermight and tumblr @ korrmin

Yennefer led them out of the burning town and down a path through the woods. Geralt followed silently, still holding the sleeping Jaskier to his chest. She stopped by a stream and sighed, hands on her hips.

“This will do,” she announced, looking over at Geralt. He stared at her, waiting, and she sighed, gesturing at a large tree. “Put him down.”

Walking over, he laid Jaskier down near the tree, propped up against it. “What are you planning to do - ” he cut himself off as Yennefer showed him, lifting her hands and slowly working a magical thread around Jaskier’s waist, tying him to the tree.

Her hands fell. “That’s powerful enough to hold him off for a few minutes, at least.”

Geralt looked over at the stream. “So long enough for you to douse him again?”

“Mmm,” she answered, walking over and crouching in front of the sleeping man. Geralt didn’t know he suddenly felt - protective or something, watching her with narrowed eyes. “Hopefully he’ll be himself when he wakes, but…”

Standing up, she strolled over to the stream and started unlacing her dress. Geralt couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“What are you doing?” he growled. “You - you’re not seriously bathing right now, are you?” he asked in disbelief.

Yennefer looked back at him from over her shoulder, her dress slipping down and pooling around her feet. “Is that a problem?” she asked plainly. “If you don’t recall, I am dirty and - oh, right - ” she turned around, gesturing at her stomach “ - fucking _injured_.”

Geralt stared at her stomach for a moment. “Fine,” he grumbled.

Yennefer smiled tightly and turned back around, stepping into the water. Geralt sighed and sat down beside Jaskier, leaning against the tree. He could feel Yennefer’s magic in the air, strong and potent.

Before he knew it, he had dozed off. Yennefer woke him up with a kick to his leg. He glared up at her before smelling it - glancing over at the fire, he noticed she was roasting deer.

“When did you - ”

“When you were sleeping, uselessly,” she said primly, walking to the fire and sitting down, turning the stick and roasting the other side.

Geralt frowned but followed her example and stood up, moving to the fire. He glanced back at Jaskier, who was still sound asleep. “Has he - ?” he asked, and she shook her head. “Hmm.”

“He is still breathing, right?” she asked after a beat, and Geralt’s stomach flared with anxiety.

He turned around and leaned over, pressing two fingers against the soft, soot-covered skin of Jaskier’s neck. He let out a breath of relief as he felt his steady pulse. When he turned back around, Yennefer raised an eyebrow.

“I was joking,” she said.

Geralt frowned again and didn’t dignify her with a reply.

“So,” she said, chewing slowly. “Why would a bard make a deal with a demon?”

Geralt really wished they could talk about literally anything else. He took a large bite, mostly so he wouldn’t have to answer just yet. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “We still don’t know that he did.”

“But if he did,” she said, “he probably has a good reason, hmm?”

Geralt frowned and took another big bite, chewing slowly. The meat suddenly tasted bitter in his mouth. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “I mean, yeah.” He didn’t want to believe Jaskier would ever make a deal with a demon, but if he had, he knew he had to have had a good, solid reason.

“Hopefully we can ask him when he wakes up,” she said, peering over his shoulder at the sleeping bard. “Unless he wakes up and he’s that thing again, in which case…”

Geralt’s skin prickled. “We already decided: you’ll douse him with water again.”

“I - ” Yennefer pursed her lips. “Fine, but all you’re doing is buying time, Geralt, putting off the inevitable.”

He took a deep breath and threw his bone, clean, in the fire. “I’m going to wash off,” he said, standing up and already stripping off his things.

Yennefer hummed in amusement. “Men - hypocrites, the lot of ‘em.”

Geralt ignored her as he walked to the stream, now naked, and stepped in the water. Thankfully she didn’t join him, not that he thought she would but their relationship was turbulent like that, so he never really knew. He stayed in the water for so long his skin was wrinkly.

It was weirdly grounding, staring down at his hands, scarred and stronger than most humans but still, just like them, his skin wrinkled up when he stayed in water for too long.

“Uh,” Yennefer’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Geralt, I think he’s waking up.”

Geralt was out of the water in seconds, yanking on his pants and nearly tripping as he ran over. Jaskier hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but he was thrashing in his sleep, throwing his head back and forth and groaning.

“ _Well?_ ” Yennefer snapped and he startled out of his shock, leaning down and gently smacking Jaskier’s cheek. “Okay, no,” she said quickly, grabbing Geralt by the wrist. “Maybe smacking the monster that almost killed us isn’t a good idea.”

He realized she had a point, but it was too late - he looked back into the familiar blue of Jaskier’s eyes. But something was wrong.

“You’re not Jaskier,” he said.

Jaskier - or the thing - smiled cruelly. “You want to talk to him, don’t you?”

Yennefer stepped forward, closer. “We don’t want anything,” she said. “Let us talk to him or - ”

“Or what?” he finished quickly. “You’ll torture me?” He smiled again and leaned back, relaxing. “I don’t think you will, actually.”

Yennefer growled and stepped even closer but Geralt stopped her, a hand in the air. He focused on Jaskier - it was definitely him, but everything was so, so wrong. He had never seen Jaskier look so… cruel before, not even at his angriest. It was jarring.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “You don’t want us to talk to Jaskier. Got it.” Jaskier - the thing - narrowed his eyes, staring at him suspiciously. “So… what about you; can we talk to you?”

The grin on Jaskier’s face was all wrong as he answered: “Depends. What do you want to talk about?”

Yennefer scoffed from behind him but Geralt ignored her. “You,” he answered honestly, waiting - and gauging - what kind of reaction he’d get. Jaskier hmmed and for a moment it was like he was back, but he wasn’t, not really.

“Okay,” he decided finally. “Ask away.”

Geralt let out a breath of relief. Yennefer huffed and crouched down beside him, shoving the skirt of her dress out of the way. “What the fuck are you?” she questioned. “A demon?”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows. “I don’t want to talk to you,” he said and then, before they could blink, he was out of her shackles. Geralt jumped up and so did Yennefer but it was too late: he pushed her back with a powerful burst of magic, pinning her to a tree. “Hmm, now, isn’t that ironic?”

Geralt looked between the pair. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Oh,” Jaskier grinned cruelly. “She’s not the one he wants to hurt.”

Geralt’s skin prickled as he took a slow step back. “What are you talking about?”

“See, your little friend - the bard - he’s not very… smart, is he?” he said, too cheery, like he was talking to an old friend. “He went searching for one of those… hmm, Djinns?”

Geralt remembered vividly the sight of Jaskier, bloody and choking, and he took a deep breath. “Why the fuck would he do that?” he asked, unable to help himself. “He almost died from the last one.”

“Well,” he sighed heavily. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?” Jaskier looked up and took a slow step forward. Geralt took another step back. “What matters is that he found me, and I told him I could help.”

Geralt reached up for his sword but he was stopped by an invisible force, suddenly unable to move at all as Jaskier stalked closer, a cruel grin plastered across his face. It was wrong - it was all so wrong.

“He was in so much pain, Witcher, do you know why?”

Geralt gulped audibly, straining against the magic weighing him down, just on the edge of painful. It was much stronger than the fiery monster had been, which raised a million questions. “Why?” he croaked.

“Because of you, of course,” he answered, finally reaching him. He placed a hand over Geralt’s chest. “I don’t understand silly human emotions, as I’m sure you don’t, but this poor little thing is madly in love with you, dear Witcher. And _you_ \- you cruelly pushed him away.”

Geralt’s eyes shifted over to Yennefer, still pinned helplessly against the tree. She was watching them, an odd expression on her face. He cursed mentally and glared at not-Jaskier. “I made a mistake,” he said truthfully. “Shouldn’t I be given the chance to fix it?”

“Hmm, usually, yes,” he replied, “but usually little bards don’t come stumbling upon demons. So.” With a flick of his wrist, Geralt was thrown back several feet, landing in the water with a loud splash.

His head reappeared a few seconds later, gasping for air.

“You think we made a deal,” not-Jaskier said, glancing between the two of them, “but we didn’t. You can’t just contact him and have him break a bond.”

Geralt growled as he stood up, nearly slipping on a rock. “You possessed him.”

“Such barbaric terms,” not-Jaskier said with a smirk. “I’m _helping_ him.” And with that, his eyes fluttered shut and he fell to the ground with a thud, limp.

Yennefer fell forward, landing on her hands and knees. Geralt quickly crawled out of the stream, soaked to the bone, and approached her first. “Are you okay?” he asked, eyeing Jaskier’s body.

She looked up and nodded curtly. “This is worse than we thought, isn’t it?”

“I…” Geralt took a deep breath and closed his eyes, taking a moment. “Yeah.”

Geralt moved Jaskier’s body to the stream. He tied him up, physically, and Yennefer added magical shackles after though she said they were probably useless. He sat at the edge of the stream after that, still soaked.

Yennefer sat with him, knees pulled up and arms crossed on top of them.

“So, the demon is… that thing we just met, right?” she asked.

Geralt nodded silently.

“But then what was that fiery thing?” she asked. “Him? Or something else?”

Geralt scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know, Yennefer,” he replied tersely. “I don’t know everything.”

“You just act like you do,” she remarked with no real heat. She sighed and pressed her face into her arms. For a moment, she was silent. “Do you know how to - ?” she gestured. “Remove a demon from a human body?”

Geralt grunted. “It’s easier when they’ve made a deal with it,” he answered after a moment, closing his eyes. “Demon possessions aren’t as common as the general public think - I’ve never dealt with one in person, just heard about them.”

“Oh,” she breathed, disappointment clear in her voice. “Well, that’s unhelpful.”

Geralt almost laughed - almost - because this whole thing was so fucked up. He never imagined Jaskier, of all people, would ever be possessed or the target of a fucking demon.

“Should we… discuss the other thing?” she asked, a little quiet.

Geralt stiffened, opening his eyes and glaring at Jaskier’s sleeping face. He almost looked like himself when he was sleeping; calm and soft features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” she replied dryly. “Listen, normally I’d be up for playing your stupid brooding game if we were dealing with something stupid but Jaskier is in love with you, Geralt. That’s kind of a big thing, sorry.”

Geralt closed his eyes again. “Do you have a spell for headaches?” he asked gruffly.

Yennefer sighed, soft, but reached up and pressed the palm of her hand against Geralt’s forehead. She mumbled something under her breath and the pain subsided quickly. She pulled her hand away and he pursed her lips.

“Thanks.”

She shook her head, looking back at Jaskier. “Why was he searching for a Djinn?” she asked. “Like you said, he almost died from the last one. Jaskier isn’t dumb.”

Geralt snorted. “He would be so flattered to hear that from you,” he replied dryly. “I don’t know, Yen. I hadn’t seen him for… a while.”

“Right,” she replied. “But that thing - ” she pointed at Jaskier’s body “ - said this was all happening because of you. Do you think… is that thing feeding off Jaskier’s anger? At you - for pushing him away?”

Geralt stiffened, and that was answer enough.

“Okay, well,” Yennefer sighed lightly, tapping her fingers against her knees. “We don’t have many options. If we can’t even talk to Jaskier for help, we’re going to have to find a way to get that demon out of him on our own.”

Geralt turned his head, slowly. “You’re still willing to help?” he asked.

Yennefer looked back at him with hard eyes. “I’m not a monster, Geralt,” she said sharply. “If Jaskier did not make a deal with that thing, I want to try and help him, too.” She almost sounded genuinely upset at the implication she wouldn’t, and Geralt frowned.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just… I’m not even sure it’ll work,” he admitted. Geralt scrubbed a hand down his face. “Like I said, I’ve heard of them. So I have the basic understanding, but that’s it.”

Yennefer leaned over, nudging him with her arm. “In case you forgot,” she said, “I’m one hell of a mage, and you’re not too bad yourself, dear witcher. I think we’ll find a way.”

He nodded curtly. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeated as she stood up, dusting off her dress. “Well,” she said pointedly, staring down at him. “Tell me everything you know and we’ll see what we can do before he wakes up again.”

Geralt explained all the information he knew about demon possessions and Yennefer listened intently, even jotting some stuff down in the dirt with a stick. Once he was finished, he stood back with her and stared at the scribbles in the dirt.

“So,” Yennefer said. “One of us will need to hold him down for three minutes for this to work,” she said. “Great.”

Geralt sighed heavily. “I told you; they’re not common. Demons usually prefer doing things on their own. And - and if we’re not careful, it’ll all be naught, anyway. Human bodies are weak.”

“Wonderful,” she said dryly. “We might both die saving Jaskier just for him to die, too.” She smiled brightly, all fake. “Just perfect.”

Geralt frowned. “Not helping, Yen”

“Yes, yes, I kno - ” she cut herself off abruptly, and Geralt looked at her oddly.

“Yen?” he asked.

She grabbed his arm and turned them around, facing the stream. Jaskier was slowly waking up, eyelashes fluttering. They both rushed over, standing at the edge of the water. Yennefer raised her hands, already preparing for the worst, and Geralt reached for his sword.

Jaskier opened his eyes and Geralt knew immediately it was him. Really him.

“Jaskier,” he breathed, running to him, pushing through the water.

Yennefer huffed. “Geralt,” she said. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked, still eyeing Jaskier skeptically.

He didn’t answer; just waded through the water until he was in front of Jaskier. Jaskier, who was frowning and glaring at him. “Geralt,” he said tersely and then, as if just noticing, he tugged on his restraints with a frown. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Geralt frowned just as Yennefer stopped beside him, a displeased look on her face. “Jaskier,” he said slowly. “Do you know what you’ve been doing?”

“Wh - ?” Jaskier’s eyebrows furrowed together and he struggled lightly against the restraints. “ _What_ are you talking about?”

Yennefer sighed. “Even better,” she said, throwing her hands in the air.

“No, no,” Geralt said, putting a heavy hand on her shoulder. “This is a good thing,” he argued. “Means he’s truly innocent - ”

“Innocent?” Jaskier parroted, frowning again. “Let me ask again: _what_ \- ” he tugged against the restraints, hard “ - is going on?”

Geralt crouched down in front of him. “Jaskier, we don’t have time for this,” he said, and the bard scowled, a look Geralt had admittedly not seen on his face very often. “We need to ask you a few questions and you need to answer honestly, okay?”

“And why, pray tell, should I tell you anything?” he replied harshly. He narrowed his eyes, and for a moment he saw the similarities between Jaskier and the demon. “You _abandoned_ me, witcher, I don’t owe you anything.” He leaned back. “Whatever is going on, figure it out yourself and let me _go_!”

Yennefer leaned down. “Jaskier, stop being a little shite and just answer us.”

He glared at her. “And why should I do that?” he said. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was never your biggest fan, either.”

“Gods,” she said as she stood up and flicked her wrist, a white, shining rope appearing around Jaskier’s pale, thin throat. Geralt jumped up, a wild look on his eyes - “Yen,” he hissed - but she ignored him, slowly tightening the rope around his neck. “Still uninterested in our questions?”

Jaskier pressed his lips together, tight. “Fine,” he said after a moment.

Yen smiled sweetly and the rope disappeared. She nodded at Geralt, who frowned at her for a second before kneeling again. “Jaskier, why did you go in search of a Djinn?”

“I - ” his eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

Geralt ignored his question. “Jaskier, just answer. Please.”

“I - I - ” Jaskier stuttered, and he almost looked ashamed, red-faced and frowning. “It’s none of your business!” he snapped. “ _You_ abandoned _me_ ; you no longer get an opinion - ”

Jaskier stopped suddenly as his head fell forward, limply laying against his chest. Geralt looked at Yennefer, who crouched down and gently nudged his shoulder.

“Jaskier?” she asked.

Geralt stood up, hands curling into fists. “Yen,” he said. “I think we need to get back.”

She nodded and stood up. They trudged out of the water and stepped back a few feet on land, watching as Jaskier slowly caught fire, flames licking at his skin. “But he’s in water,” she said weakly.

“I don’t think that matters anymore,” he replied quietly.

Jaskier let out a howl of pain and Geralt watched as he broke out of the restraints, both normal and magical. Yennefer threw her hands up and tried to redo them, but the thing - Jaskier, Geralt thought ruefully - was too fast.

Jaskier threw himself at them, knocking Yennefer off her feet. Geralt pulled his sword out and stabbed him through the leg.

He knew the limbs seemed to be safe - he’d cut off Jaskier’s arm last time without a lasting problem, but he was too scared to aim for the middle. Jaskier yelped and turned around, tackling Geralt.

Geralt grunted, placing his sword at the burning bard’s throat.

“Jaskier,” he said softly. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded. He stared into beady, dark eyes, hoping - praying to whatever Gods existed - that Jaskier could still hear him somewhere in there. “We want to help you, Jaskier. Just - ” Jaskier’s fingers wrapped around his throat, burning his skin. “Don’t do this, Jaskier,” he repeated firmly.

Yennefer pushed Jaskier off him with a blast of magic and Jaskier fell, limply, on the grass, the fire slowly going out until it was just the bard laying there, sweat-slick and breathing heavily.

Geralt sat up and rubbed his throat, looking at Yennefer.

“We can’t keep chancing fights with that thing,” she said roughly. “We have to hurry.”

He nodded curtly. “I’ll need supplies,” he said. “And a place to do it.”

Yennefer smiled tightly. “I have just the place,” she said. She nodded at Jaskier. “Get him and follow me.”


	5. Chapter 5

Yennefer led them to an abandoned mansion. Geralt gave her a pointed look and she shrugged before she led them through the winding hallways to a bedroom. “What?” she said finally. “I found it.”

“Right,” he drawled, obviously not convinced. He placed Jaskier on the bed after blowing away most of the dust.

Yennefer sighed and folded her arms over her chest. “One of us has to collect the ingredients,” she pointed out. Geralt grunted, pulling a chair over and sitting beside the bed. Yennefer rolled her eyes. “And that person will be me, of course,” she said blandly. “Will you be okay on your own?”

Geralt looked up. “Can you do the restraints again?”

“Hmm,” she said, eyeing Jaskier. “Well, yes, but is it really worth the effort?”

Geralt shrugged. “I don’t know, but it can’t hurt, right?”

“Point made,” she replied as she lifted her hands, swiftly tying Jaskier’s body up in magic. Finished, her hands dropped and she turned away. Geralt watched, silent, as she conjured a portal.

Before she could step through, Geralt was talking: “Be careful, Yen.”

Yennefer turned on her heels, still holding the portal with one hand. “I should be the one saying that,” she said, looking at Jaskier’s limp body. “I’ll be quick,” she added before turning around and stepping through the portal.

The portal fell away and soon it was just Geralt and the bard, alone.

Geralt had never been good at _waiting_. He hated it, actually, hated feeling useless. He sat back and stared at Jaskier’s sleeping face, calm and peaceful. He wanted to fix this as soon as possible. He wanted - needed - to know Jaskier would be okay.

It’d been ten, maybe fifteen, minutes since Yennefer’s departure when Jaskier let out a groan of pain and Geralt sat up straighter, reaching for his sword. He watched closely as Jaskier slowly opened his eyes.

He turned his head, just barely, and peered at Geralt with glossy eyes. “Water,” he croaked, and Geralt nodded. He grabbed his bag and pulled out his canister of water, opening it and pressing it against Jaskier’s dry lips.

Jaskier drank greedily, gulp after gulp. Finally, there was no more water and Geralt took the canister away.

“Wh - what’s happening to me, Geralt?” he asked, hoarse, and Geralt almost thought about lying. But he couldn’t.

He cleared his throat. “You’ve been possessed by a demon, Jaskier,” he said, blunt as ever.

Jaskier’s eyes widened, almost comically so, and he tried to sit up but he didn’t get very far before he was falling back with another groan of pain. “Wh- _what?_ ” he asked in disbelief. “I - I was looking for a Djinn… how - how did - ”

“Yennefer is gathering ingredients,” he explained, gently interrupting him. “We’re going to do whatever we can to get it out of you, Jaskier, but…” he hesitated, the words catching on his tongue.

He didn’t need to say them; he could tell Jaskier understood by the look on his face. “I - I might die,” he whispered, a quiet confession. “Oh, Gods, that’s - that’s literally the _opposite_ of what I wanted.”

Geralt could tell he almost had the answer - well, part of the answer, at least. He reached out and took a risk, gripping Jaskier’s hand, squeezing. Jaskier almost sobbed as he squeezed back.

“Why were you searching for a Djinn, Jaskier?” he asked, searching his face.

Jaskier swallowed thickly, mouth obviously dry despite all the water he’d drank. He looked away and closed his eyes. “I was - I wanted to - ” he stammered. Geralt squeezed his hand tighter - “Jaskier, you can tell me” - but when Jaskier looked at him again he knew, deep down, it wasn’t Jaskier.

“You realize I can hear everything you tell him, right?” the demon asked, and he was smiling like the whole thing was simply amusing to him. “Did you really think it’d be so easy, dear witcher?”

Geralt squeezed his hand, hard, knowing it’d hurt Jaskier but, well, that didn’t really matter right now, did it? The demon’s smile turned cruel as he pulled his hand out of Geralt’s grip and, with a flick of wrist, knocked Geralt’s chair out from under him.

Geralt caught himself before he fell, eyeing his sword.

“You’ve made an interesting observation, haven’t you?” the demon asked and he sat up easily. “You can injure Jaskier when he’s in his fiery state without any lasting consequences. It’s not real fire, you know,” he said and Geralt frowned. “Those are his emotions.”

Geralt’s frown deepened. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach for his sword.

“But it’s different when we’re like this,” the demon said, pressing a hand to Jaskier’s chest. “If you hurt me, you’re hurting him. Stab me, you kill your little bard friend, witcher.”

Geralt should’ve known that and maybe he had, deep down. He took a shaky breath. “Why are you doing this?” he asked roughly.

“I told you,” the demon said, “I’m helping him.”

Geralt almost laughed. He felt anger in his veins. “No, you’re not.”

“I am,” he assured him. “He was so hurt when you abandoned him. Do you really want to know why he was searching for the Djinn?” He didn’t wait for Geralt’s answer. “He wanted to go back, to before you both ascended the mountain.”

Geralt’s mouth was dry now. “Why?” he asked, heart tight in his chest.

The demon tilted their head. “Don’t be dumb,” he said. “Jaskier wanted to do things differently. He, of course, didn’t know time magic was such a tricky thing. The Djinn never would’ve done it for him. But that’s not all,” he hummed, eyebrows raising. “He had another wish planned, too. Want to hear it?”

The corners of Geralt’s mouth twitched. “I have a feeling you’ll tell me no matter my answer.” But it felt wrong hearing these things from someone who wasn’t Jaskier, like he was invading his privacy.

“He wanted immortality,” he continued, and Geralt’s breath caught in his throat - “what?” - but the demon barely paused before continuing, “I think he wanted to stay by your side forever. How sweet, hmm?” He smiled cruelly. “Humans are such sweet, weak little things, don’t you feel the same, witcher?”

Geralt still felt like he couldn’t breathe. His hands curled into fists. He’d never done this before - bargained with a demon, or begged - but desperate times called for desperate measures and he was willing to do anything to save Jaskier. “Please,” he said, rough, “I will do anything you want. Just let him go.”

“Ohh,” the demon’s eyes - Jaskier’s eyes, he reminded himself - sparkled. “I did not see that coming, admittedly. The powerful White Wolf begging a demon for leniency.”

Geralt stepped forward, was pleased when he could. “Yes,” he confirmed, unwavering. “I am begging you. Jaskier is a good man; he does not deserve this. Let him go and I’ll even find you another host.”

“Oh my,” the demon laughed, eyes lit up with joy. “Now you’re offering to find me another host? You are _full_ of surprises, Geralt of Rivia. What happened to being one of the good guys? You’re willing to let another innocent take Jaskier’s place as long as you get what you want?”

Geralt took a shaky breath and held his head high. He wasn’t proud of it, but: “Yes,” he answered honestly.

A whooshing sound and Yennefer was back in the room, holding an armful of ingredients. Geralt swung around to look back at Jaskier but he was limp again, unresponsive even as he jostled his shoulder.

“Fuck!” he cursed loudly.

Yennefer walked over. “Wh - what is it?” she asked, dropping the ingredients at the foot of the bed. Geralt’s eyes skimmed them; she’d at least gotten everything.

“He was here - the demon,” he explained, ignoring the disappointment in the pit of his stomach, heavy and dark. “I was - I think I’d almost convinced him to let Jaskier go.”

Yennefer searched his face. “You’re kidding,” she breathed. “How?”

Somehow he knew she wouldn’t like his answer. He squared his shoulders. “I told him I’d find him another host to take Jaskier’s place,” he said, unwavering even in the face of Yennefer’s obvious disapproval.

“That’s - you’re kidding, right?” she said. “Who did you have in mind, exactly?” she asked, voice sharp. “Were you just going to grab the first person you saw, ruin _their_ life?”

“I don’t know, Yennefer!” he snapped. “I had to do something. I can’t - ” he looked at Jaskier and realized then just how much he was willing to do to save the bard, even if it went against his morals and upbringing. None of that mattered in the face of losing Jaskier and Geralt was almost floored by the intensity of his emotions, unexpected and all-consuming. “I just can’t, okay?”

Yennefer was silent for a moment. “Come on,” she said finally. “Help me.”

So, he did. He helped draw the sigil in the floor with crushed berries and then talked her through the spell of enchanting it and the mixture they’d be putting on his face and chest.

Finished, Geralt lifted Jaskier and gently set him on the floor in the middle of the sigil. Yennefer crouched in front of him and drew matching sigils on Jaskier’s forehead and above his heart.

“He told me,” Geralt said while she was working. “The demon told me why Jaskier had been searching for a Djinn.”

Yennefer hummed her acknowledgment, perfecting the sigils.

“This is all my fault, Yen,” he continued, voice cracking. He was surprised Yennefer didn’t make fun of him, perfectly silent as she worked and listened. “I did this - all of it. All because I’m a fucking _bastard_ \- ”

“Well, can’t argue facts,” she interrupted, lightly, and he was grateful for it, easing some of the tension in his own body.

“This probably isn’t going to work,” he continued. “But we have to try.”

Yennefer nodded as she stood up, finished, checking her work. “Good?” she asked Geralt, who stepped closer and looked Jaskier over. He nodded and she nodded back, stepping out of the sigil. “So who’s doing which?” she asked as if the answer wasn’t already obvious and hanging in the air.

“You’re the mage,” he said, crouching beside Jaskier on the floor. He curled his arms around him, holding him tight. “You need to do it.”

Yennefer looked concerned but like she was doing a bad job at hiding it. “Will you - ”

“Yes,” he interrupted. “Just… do it, okay?”

She nodded and checked the notes Geralt had written for her, one last time, before she started the spell. She stood at the head of the sigil and lifted her hands, mumbling ancient magic.

Geralt first noticed the sigil on the floor glowing then, not long after, the sigils on Jaskier’s body were glowing, too. He held him tighter, closer. This had to work. He couldn’t take much more of this, of seeing Jaskier being used like a toy.

Yennefer’s chanting got louder and louder as the spell progressed and Geralt prepared himself for the worst of it. He didn’t have to wait long. A couple minutes later and Jaskier was thrashing violently in his arms, trying to get away, clawing at Geralt’s arms, his face.

He looked up and saw the concern in Yennefer’s eyes. “Don’t stop!”

She nodded, once, and continued chanting, the palms of her hands glowing, her hands shaking as she fought the magic of the demon.

“ _Geralt_!” Jaskier wailed like a child, and Geralt held him closer, cradling the back of his head as he screamed and sobbed and scratched at the witcher, drawing blood in various places. Geralt couldn’t feel any of it; he was too focused on the bard. “Geralt, plea - gods, it’s - it’s - everything _hurts_ \- ”

Geralt didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, just held him through the rest of the spell. Yennefer’s chanting got louder and louder until finally she reached a peak, screaming the spell over the sound of Jaskier’s protesting.

Geralt buried his face in Jaskier’s hair. “It’s okay,” he said, “you’ll be okay.” He ignored the pain in his chest, questioning if he believed his own words. “You have to be okay, Jaskier. I - ”

Suddenly everything was still and quiet. Geralt pulled away from Jaskier and peered into his face; his eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow. He cupped the side of his face.

“Jaskier?” he asked softly. He didn’t open his eyes. Geralt looked over at Yennefer, who was leaning against the wall and panting, sweat-slicked. “Yen?” he asked, and she put a hand in the air, nodding.

“Fine,” she gasped. “Just - tired.”

He nodded and slowly stood on shaky legs, holding Jaskier in his arms. Yennefer took a deep breath and walked over, slow on her feet.

“Did it work?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Geralt gently laid Jaskier back on the bed. “I - I don’t know,” he admitted. He wished he did, more than anything. He hated not knowing. “I was expecting the demon to… fight more,” he added. “But maybe you’re really just that strong,” he said with a forced half-smile, glancing at her.

Yennefer did not look convinced. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed a heavy hand on one of Jaskier’s legs. “We’ll know when he wakes up,” she said and Geralt really, truly hated waiting.

But that was their only option. He sat on the bed and took Jaskier’s hands, holding them as they waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did it work? or didn't it? who knows!!


	6. Chapter 6

A few days of waiting. A _week_ of waiting. Geralt knew what was happening but he was afraid of speaking the words, confirming his worst fear. Yennefer was not.

“He’s not waking up,” she said, standing over Jaskier, eyeing him skeptically.

Geralt was sitting in the a chair near the foot of the bed, arms folded over his chest. He grunted. “He will,” he argued firmly. “We just have to wait.”

Yennefer looked over at him, eyes somehow both soft and hard at the same time. “You’re better than that,” she said sharply. “You can’t just ignore reality and hope it’ll bend to your will, Geralt.”

He pointedly did not look at her, just stared silently at Jaskier’s sleeping face. He was breathing, even and soft, so why wasn’t he waking up? Geralt didn’t know. He’d never heard of something like this happening during an exorcism.

From his understanding, the victim lived or died and if they lived they woke up within a few hours of the exorcism.

“I can try a spell or something,” Yennefer was saying, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Geralt’s frown deepened. “No,” he said roughly. “Not yet.”

She stomped over and stood in front of him, blocking his view of Jaskier. He looked up at her, left with no other option. “How long do you want us to wait?” she asked, lips pursed. “It’s been a week and a half, Geralt.”

“That’s not that long,” he replied instantly, “especially for us.”

Yennefer narrowed her eyes. Her makeup was smudged, even more than usual, and she had dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted. Geralt sat up straighter.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll watch over him, do what you need for yourself.”

His words surprised her, evidently, by the way she stumbled back. “What?”

“You obviously need sleep,” he replied plainly. “I’ll watch over him myself.”

Yennefer narrowed her eyes again. For a long moment, she just stared at him, silent, before finally she sighed, shoulders slumping. “Fine,” she grumbled. “But I’ll be back.”

Geralt nodded. She walked away and he listened idly as she left, her heels clacking on the floor. He knew it was wrong but he was glad for her departure - at least for the moment.

He scooted his chair closer to the bed and settled back down, staring at Jaskier. He looked peaceful in his sleep. Geralt reached out, slow, and touched the side of his face.

“Jaskier,” he whispered. “I don’t - ” he cleared his throat and glanced back at the door, just to make sure Yennefer hadn’t returned for anything. Satisfied, he turned back. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m sorry for everything I did.”

Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry for making you think you had to do any of this,” he continued, gently brushing his knuckles down Jaskier’s cheek. “For thinking you had to do something as crazy as find a _Djinn_ to fix things between us.”

He had betrayed Jaskier in so many ways, and now he wasn’t even sure if he could make up for any of it. Geralt closed his eyes, taking a breath. He wasn’t even sure if Jaskier was ever going to open his eyes again.

Witchers did not have feelings, or so the myths said, but Geralt knew better. He had feelings, strong ones, like guilt and regret and - and good ones, too. He opened his eyes. Like adoration and lust and _love_.

When he really thought back, Jaskier was the first person in a long time, outside of his own, who had made him feel any of that.

And he had abandoned him for Yennefer, for a woman who didn’t even want him. He had been dumb and selfish and now Jaskier was suffering for it. Geralt leaned back, taking his hand away from Jaskier’s face, and ignored the stinging in his eyes.

“If _you_ can hear me, demon,” he said, squaring his shoulders, “offer still stands.”

Nothing. Jaskier’s eyes moved behind his eyelids, like he was in a deep sleep. Geralt scrubbed a hand down his face. He was all out of options. He would not let Yennefer do anything, not at the risk of hurting Jaskier, and that was their only other option.

Geralt hadn’t slept in days, not since the exorcism. He couldn’t. But even he had his limits and he’d finally met them. He closed his eyes, insisting just for a moment, and dozed off.

Geralt opened his eyes and immediately groaned, covering them with the back of his hand. He wasn’t in the mansion, that much was obvious - he was in an open field, he realized, as he sat up, glancing around. He was mostly just confused for a second before he remembered -

“Jaskier,” he breathed, scrambling to his feet.

He looked around for Jaskier or even Yennefer but he didn’t see the bard or the sorceress. He was by himself in the woods on a clear summer day. “What the fuck?” he mumbled under his breath.

He turned in a slow circle. “Jaskier?” he called. “Yen?”

“Ah,” Jaskier’s voice. “You’re awake.”

Geralt’s skin prickled as Jaskier stepped out of a line of trees. He could tell it wasn’t him just from the way he held himself, taking a slow step forward. Geralt’s hands curled into fists. “What is this?” he asked gruffly. He shifted and noticed he didn’t have his bag, which meant he didn’t have his swords. Fuck.

“I’m in your head,” the demon said, too brightly. “Can you feel me?”

“Well, get _out_ ,” he growled, stalking forward.

Jaskier - the demon - laughed, light and airy, and stepped forward, unafraid. They were almost touching, just inches between their chests. His eyes sparkled. “You almost had me,” he said. “I’m surprised, but sadly you failed, dear witcher.”

“Evidently,” he replied dryly. “But if I failed… what are you doing here?” he asked, gesturing around. “Unless…” he narrowed his eyes. “You’re scared,” he said, not a question, a twitch of his lips.

Jaskier frowned. “I am not _scared_ ,” he replied darkly. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Hey,” he said. “Entertain me here for a second; what exactly _happens_ to demons that are forced out of their host?”

The demon didn’t answer. Geralt grinned, slow and dark. “You’re scared,” he repeated. “Because you think we’re going to succeed and you don’t want us to.” He reached out and gripped the back of Jaskier’s head, fingers digging into his hair. It was an intimidation tactic that caused no real harm to Jaskier. “Admit it,” he said, leaning in close. “You know we’re going to win, you little shit, and you’re _terrified_.”

“I can kill him,” the demon said, a weak threat.

Geralt tugged on his hair, _hard_. “But what happens if you don’t have a host?”

“I - ” the demon stopped, obviously caught. He squared his shoulders and tried again. “I could take you or the woman as a host,” he said. “Don’t doubt my abilities, witcher.”

Geralt was not impressed. “But _can_ you?” he asked, slow. “Because from where I’m standing, I’m starting to get the impression you went after Jaskier because he was a human, which made him weak.”

The demon frowned, just for a split second, but it was enough.

“I’m right,” he continued. “You’re not _strong_ enough to possess a witcher or a sorceress…” It wasn’t a question. Geralt released his hair finally and took a step back. “I’m going to give you one last chance,” he said icily. “I will help you find a new host if you swear to let Jaskier go, _unharmed_.”

The demon was silent for a long moment, obviously pondering his options. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

Geralt growled, took a step forward, before everything went dark.

Geralt gasped, opening his eyes and staring into the face of Yennefer, pinched with worry. She sighed, shoulders slumping, and smacked him on the arm, hard. He frowned. “What was _that_ for?”

“You fell asleep!” she chastised, glancing at Jaskier. “You were supposed to be _watching_ him. Can’t very well do that with your eyes closed, can you?”

Geralt remembered the conversation he’d had with the demon, sitting up straight. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. Yennefer took a step back, obviously sensing something was up.

“He - the demon, he visited me in my dream,” he said, staring at Jaskier.

“What?” she hissed. “How?”

Geralt didn't know and frankly, in that moment, he didn’t care. “He said he’d consider taking a different host,” he said, speaking fast. “We just - we have to find someone, Yen. Preferably a guilty person.”

Yennefer had that unimpressed look back on her face. “Guilty?” she parroted, folding her arms. “In what way?”

He shrugged sharply as he stood up, legs unexpectedly shaky, approaching the bed. He reached out, hesitated for a second before brushing some hair out of Jaskier’s face. His dream had felt so real; the feeling of Jaskier’s hair between his fingers, soft as feathers.

“I don’t care,” he replied roughly. “Just - someone.” He took a breath. “ _Anyone_.”

Yennefer stepped over, giving him a pointed look from under her dark bangs. “Is this something you really want to do?” she asked, soft for her. “Geralt, I thought you - ”

“I don’t care!” he snapped, regretting it immediately after. “Yen,” he looked at her. “I’m sorry.” She was silent, lips pursed, watching him. “Just find someone, okay?”

Yennefer took a deep breath. “Fine,” she said. “If I linger outside an inn long enough, I should be able to find a man worthy of death.”

Geralt smiled, just barely, tight. “Thank you, Yen,” he said, meaning it.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, sharp as a dagger. “We don’t even know if the demon will go through with it.” She searched his face. “Geralt, if he doesn’t… do we have any options left?”

Geralt looked away. “I don’t know,” he replied roughly.

“So that’s a _no_ ,” she mumbled knowingly. “I’ll be back, Geralt,” she said right before conjuring a portal. “Please do not fall asleep again.”

Geralt looked up and she was gone, just like that. The power of magic. Shaking his head, he looked back down at Jaskier, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Don’t stop fighting, Jaskier,” he said, quiet, reaching out and grabbing his hand. “We’re so close.”

Yennefer returned maybe an hour later and dropped a man at Geralt’s feet. Literally. He raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged, kicking him. The man was unconscious, rolling over with her kick. He was an older gentleman, plain in every sense of the word.

“I’ll have you know,” she said tersely, “I’m only going along with this because I caught this bastard feeling up a girl so drunk she was covered in her own vomit and sobbing.”

Geralt winced at the imagery, but at least some of the guilt faded away with the new information. He took a deep breath and leaned over Jaskier, staring down at him.

“I know you can hear me,” he said.

He waited with bated breath, Yennefer watching them.

Sure enough Jaskier opened his eyes after a moment, sitting up. Geralt leaned back. He hated seeing that _thing_ using Jaskier like a puppet. It was all wrong and left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

“We found you a replacement,” Yennefer said dryly, kicking the man again.

The demon didn’t even look. He was too busy staring at Geralt, something odd and indiscernible flashing in his eyes. _Jaskier’s_ eyes, Geralt reminded himself. For some reason he didn’t want to forget that.

“Your little bard,” he said finally, “went through so much for you, dear witcher, when he didn’t have to.” Geralt blinked, taken back by the words. He could feel Yennefer’s eyes on him. “His feelings are not as one-sided as he thinks, are they?” he asked in a smooth, even voice.

Geralt frowned, ignoring his question. He nodded at the man on the floor. “Take it or leave it,” he said, cold. “We’re not patient.”

“I’ll take it,” he said, and Geralt almost doubled over in relief. “On one condition,” he added, grinning like a shark. He looked so much like Jaskier and yet he didn’t.

Yennefer growled, stalking closer. “You little fuckin - ”

“Stop,” Geralt interrupted gruffly, never taking his eyes off Jaskier. “Whatever it is,” he said, “I’ll do it. Just fucking _let him go.”_

He heard Yennefer’s gasp of disbelief but he was unwavering. It was over. He wasn’t letting Jaskier be used as a puppet any longer.

The demon grinned, big, and leaned in. “You must tell him of your feelings, dear witcher,” he said. “Quite simple, is it not?” he asked with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Say you will, and I’ll - ” he glanced at the man on the floor with a grimace “ - take the ugly buffoon.”

Yennefer placed a heavy hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt,” she warned. “I don’t think making a deal with a demon is a good idea.” She squeezed, hard. “Isn’t that what landed us here in the first place?”

“Darling,” the demon drawled, unimpressed. “Did you miss something? Jaskier never _made a deal_ with me.”

She glared at him, fire in her eyes.

“What makes you think I won’t just go back on my word once you’re in the new body?” Geralt asked gruffly, and the demon focused his attention back on him, an amused smirk on his face.

He reached out with one of Jaskier’s hands. “We make it a real deal,” he said like it was that easy. He turned his hand over, palm facing up, and an intricate symbol appeared.

Yennefer leaned over, peering at it. “That’s - that’s some strong stuff,” she breathed, looking at Geralt with pursed lips. “Don’t do it. You can’t trust him.”

Geralt ignored her. “We don’t have any other options, Yen.” He looked up into the face of Jaskier, his beloved companion. Jaskier had lived the last few months thinking - convinced - Geralt hated him. Gods, it was the farthest thing from the truth.

“Demons can’t break a deal they made themselves,” the demon pointed out.

Yennefer didn’t look convinced, folding her arms tightly over her chest. Geralt took a deep breath. “What do I do?” he asked, eyeing Jaskier’s offended hand. The symbol started to glow a bright red.

“Just shake my hand and the deal is sealed,” he said with a grin. “Easy, right?”

Geralt reached out and Yennefer looked away, lips pressed together, tight, her disapproval clear on her face. Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and shook, once. The demon grinned big, big, big.

“Good luck, Geralt of Rivia,” he said before Jaskier’s body fell limply to the bed.

Geralt scooted forward instantly, looking him over frantically. He even checked his hand but the symbol had vanished.

“Geralt,” Yennefer hissed and he looked over just as the man stood up on shaky legs. His eyes were black for a moment before returning to a normal brown.

“I know you might not believe me,” the demon said, eyeing Jaskier’s limp form, “but I actually grew kind of attached to the poor thing while I was in there.”

Yennefer snorted. “Yeah, right.”

The demon ignored her, looking at Geralt. “Take care of him.”

Geralt watched as the demon disappeared into thin air, leaving nothing behind but ruin and charged emotions. Yennefer stomped her foot once, nearly breaking the heel of her shoe.

“So that’s it?” she asked. “We just let him go?”

Geralt stared down at Jaskier’s face, peaceful in his sleep. “Yeah,” he said gruffly, brushing a bit of hair behind one of Jaskier’s ears. “We do.” His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he dreamed - of something pleasant, hopefully.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chap tying everything up and this fic is officially over... im gonna miss it :")
> 
> reminder to follow me on social media <3  
> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Geralt would deny it later, even with the facts presented, but after the demon had disappeared, the immediate threat gone, he crawled in the bed with Jaskier, leaning against him. Needing to feel him, protect him. Geralt swallowed, throat bobbing, and wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder.

Jaskier’s head fell, limply, against his shoulder and Geralt ignored the worry in his gut.

Yennefer had left earlier, saying something about beauty sleep and something else, too, about a potion they might need if Jaskier had trouble waking up, which -

No, _no_.

Geralt turned his head, burying his face in Jaskier’s hair. He had to tell him the truth. Geralt was not a liar, not really - if someone asked him something, he almost always answered honestly. But this was different.

For one, he’d spent a long time not even realizing his own feelings for the bard. Maybe it was out of denial, maybe it wasn’t. Geralt was good at denying things, mostly to himself.

Two, the first time he’d ever realized, however idly, that he might have feelings for the other man… it was too late; he’d pushed him away. Did the deed, hurt Jaskier before he could ever get the chance to hurt him. Like he always did.

Gods, he could hear Yennefer’s voice in his head: _your self-hatred is unbecoming, witcher._

Geralt shook his head. He thought of Jaskier and how, evidently, he’d come to the conclusion - after the incident on the mountain - that Geralt had truly wanted him out of his life, which was - ridiculous, completely unreal.

Outside of his fellow witchers, Jaskier was the first real relationship he’d had in life. Renfri had almost reached that level, but things had fizzled out before he could really get to know her, become something to her.

Jaskier however, the stubborn little shit, had never given up on him, never straying far.

_Until you ruined it,_ his brain supplied sourly, reminding him of how they ended up here in the first place. No wonder Jaskier thought he hated him; he gave him no indication he didn’t. Yelled at him unfairly because Jaskier had been in the right place at the wrong time, one of the only constants in Geralt’s life.

Geralt frowned, closed his eyes, and smelled Jaskier’s hair. It might’ve been weird, but the familiar smell - oak and honey, because Jaskier was _ridiculous_ like that - grounded him, brought him out of his thoughts just enough to not spiral.

Because fuck the whole “witchers don’t have emotions” rumor; Geralt had plenty of them, and anxiety was no exception.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion. “I swear.” Taking a shaky breath, he pressed a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head. “Just wake up for me, okay?”

Geralt had no intentions of sleeping but after days of barely getting any rest - stolen hours, at least - it was inevitable, especially on a soft bed with the warmth of Jaskier in his arms.

He only woke up when felt Jaskier shift, just barely, in his arms. He sucked in air between his teeth.

“Jaskier?” he asked, staring down at the top of Jaskier’s head, brown hair mussed from days of not taking care of it. He felt like a hand was wrapped around his lungs, squeezing, tighter, tighter.

Jaskier shifted again, letting out a tiny groan. “Ge - ” he paused, smacked his lips. “ _Fuck_.”

Geralt’s heart jumped in his chest, and his lungs expanded again. He took a deep breath and pressed a soft hand to the small of Jaskier’s back. “Are you okay?” he asked, the dumbest question in the world. “I mean, I know you’re not but - ”

Jaskier turned in his arms, looking at him. He had dark circles under his eyes and his lips were chapped, terribly cracked. Geralt could’ve cried he was so fucking beautiful.

“I feel like death,” he heard Jaskier whisper. “Oh, Gods, what did I do?”

Geralt grabbed both of his shoulders. “You didn’t do anything,” he said, perfectly even. “You weren’t in control of your own body, Jaskier. That fucking - ” he paused, took a deep breath, calming himself. “That demon did all that. Not you.”

Jaskier stared at him with glassy eyes. Geralt felt like he was looking right through him and not in any good way. He reached up, slow, and brushed some hair out of Jaskier’s face.

“Hey,” he said, gruff. “Jaskier, are you okay?”

Jaskier blinked. His pupils were wide, like he was on something. Geralt’s fingers twitched against Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Jaskier,” he repeated, raising his voice a notch. “Can you hear me?”

He suddenly felt like he was underwater, struggling for air. Geralt shook him, gently. When he didn’t react, he did it again, harder. His eyes burned. “Jaskier, come on,” he said. “Say something. Jaskier!” he said, finally exploding.

The door opened with a resounding thud and Yennefer walked in, a vial in her hands. She promptly paused when he saw Jaskier sitting up, eyes open. “Okay,” she said, “what’s going on?”

Geralt opened his mouth, closed it. He ground his molars together. “He’s not - ” he paused. “Something isn’t right, Yen,” he said finally. “He was fine for a few seconds but now…”

Yennefer stepped closer, eyeing Jaskier skeptically. “What do you mean - ” Geralt lifted a hand and waved it in front of Jaskier’s face. He didn’t even blink, just stared blankly. Yennefer cursed under her breath, “well, fuck.”

Geralt laid Jaskier back on the bed. His eyes were still open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Geralt was trembling with anger, hands curled into fists. “That bastard lied,” he snarled, mostly to himself even as Yennefer stepped closer and examined Jaskier. “He never mentioned anything about _this_.”

“That’s really not important right now, Geralt,” she said primly. “It’s probably just his body reacting to what happened to it.” Yennefer hovered a hand over Jaskier’s chest, pursing her lips. “I don’t feel any residual magic.”

Geralt shifted on his feet, clenching his jaw. “So?” he prompted impatiently.

“So,” she replied, unimpressed, “I don’t know what to do. I could put him back to sleep, but - ”

“Absolutely not,” Geralt answered, nearly a growl.

Yennefer turned on her heels, folding her arms over her chest. She raised a dark eyebrow. “Well,” she said with a sharp shrug. “Our only other option is to wait and see what happens.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. He moved around Yennefer and rejoined Jaskier on the bed. He lifted Jaskier’s head and placed it in his lap, combing his fingers through the bard’s hair almost on instinct. He didn’t even have to think about it.

Yennefer watched them, silent, for a long moment. Then she let out a harsh laugh. “ _Fuck_ ,” she said with meaning. “I get it.”

Geralt looked up, narrowing his eyes. His fingers stilled in Jaskier’s hair. “Get _what?_ ” he asked, sharp.

She gestured at Jaskier. “The deal,” she said, “I was wondering what would happen if you didn’t follow through.” She looked up, meeting Geralt’s eyes. She looked way too calm, Geralt thought, considering their current predicament. He was barely keeping himself together.

“Explain,” he snapped, patience wearing thin.

Yennefer sighed, put upon. “Gods, you’re an idiot.” She straightened up. “You have to tell him how you feel, remember? I think until you do - if you do - he’s going to be stuck like that.”

“But - ” Geralt’s fingers curled in Jaskier’s hair, wishing the smell could reach him from so far.

She cut him off, hand in the air. “I know I said I felt no residual magic but I’m not exactly an expert in demons, Geralt,” she reminded him sharply. “Well.” Yennefer took a deep breath. “It’s an easy fix, at least, except, right, for the part where you’re an emotionally constipated - ”

Geralt growled, low. “Not helping.”

Yennefer shrugged, taking a step back. “So, you’re going to do it?”

“I - ” Geralt ground his teeth together so hard Yennefer felt it. “Yes,” he hissed. “I just… need a moment.”

Yennefer’s eyebrows shot up high on her forehead. “Right,” she drawled, taking another step back, nearing the door. She shook his head. “Good luck, Geralt,” she said. “Just remember if you don’t suck it up and do this, our resident little bard may never be himself again.” She wiggled her fingers in a half-wave. “No pressure though.”

Geralt frowned and watched as she spun on her heels and opened the door, leaving him alone with -

He glanced down at Jaskier and gently brushed a thumb over his cheekbone. Jaskier didn’t even blink. It was disturbing, almost worse than seeing him as a literal monster, emotions burning bright. Geralt took a deep breath and steeled himself for a conversation he hadn’t expected to be having one-sided.

“Well,” he said. “Here goes.”

He watched Jaskier’s face for any kind of reaction or even acknowledgement that he could hear him. Nothing. Right, well. Geralt didn’t know if he was relieved or not.

He brushed his thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone again. He noticed a small freckle on the side of Jaskier’s face and smiled, small.

“Jaskier, I should probably prefix - uh, all of this with an apology.”

Still nothing. Geralt cleared his throat and moved his hand back to Jaskier’s hair, idly wrapping strands of hair, stringy and greasy, around his fingers. He knew Jaskier would be displeased when he woke up in such a sorry state. The demon had apparently never heard of _water_.

“What I said to you on the mountain was… not only unfounded, but untrue.” Geralt smiled, tight around the edges, and for the briefest of seconds, self-pitying. “The truth is, I have a bad habit of… deflecting,” he said. He’d never really spoken about this and it was weird, putting words to his feelings. “I was upset and angry at myself for letting things go so wrong and you were _right there._ ”

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “Because you were always right there,” he continued, a little softer. “Because you’re so stupidly fucking loyal and I don’t know how you do it sometimes. I - ” Geralt’s nose twitched. He sniffed, hard. “I don’t know how you deal with me. I don’t know what you _see_ in me.”

“You could have anyone you wanted,” he said. “You deserve someone who treats you right.”

Jaskier blinked once, slow, and then Geralt was continuing, “I was a coward. People don’t think witchers can be cowards? Well, they’re wrong.” He smiled ruefully. “But it’s not monsters I’m afraid of. It’s losing the people around me, the people I - ” his voice broke “ - _love_.”

Geralt reached up and wiped, rough, at his eyes. Fuck, he’d survived most of the last few decades without ever shredding a tear but Jaskier, like always, was shaking things up on him.

“After we parted ways on the mountain, Jaskier, I realized I wanted you back. I did, but things were so complicated.” Geralt knew it was a flimsy excuse, but it was true, somewhat. “I had Ciri to take care of and - ” he sighed, swallowing. “The real truth is, I was scared to see you again, to deal with the aftermath of what I’d said.”

Geralt licked his lips, painfully dry. “I was being a coward while you were out there searching for a fucking Djinn because you thought that was the only way to fix things between us. Because I’d be such a fucking bast - ” he cut himself off and let out a huff of laughter with no real humor. “You were fighting to make things right while I was running away, taking the easy way out.”

He brushed his knuckles, soft, against Jaskier’s jaw. He had more facial hair than usual, stubble from obviously having not shaved in a while. Geralt thought he looked good with it, but he also missed the Jaskier he knew and loved.

Because _fuck_ , he loved Jaskier. It was surprising, but also not. It felt like the most obvious thing in the world, like he knew from the first moment they met that Jaskier was going to be a big, integral part of his life. He just hadn’t had known how (yet).

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” he said, because if he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. “I’m in love with you, and I know you - well, you were in love with me and if you’re not anymore, I can’t say I don’t understand,” Geralt smiled, forced; he could practically taste his own self-hatred, bitter on the back of his tongue. “But if you still feel the same way, I just - I need to know.”

“That’s selfish, I know, but I need to know,” he repeated, helpless. He grabbed one of Jaskier’s hands, limp, and squeezed, hard. “I want to make things right with you and I want you to always be by my side. As my friend, as my companion, as my… something more, I don’t care. I just need you there.”

Geralt took a deep breath and waited. He’d said everything, spilled his heart out. Fuck, he’d probably just spoken more in those few minutes than he had in decades but it would all be worth it if Jaskier would just say _something_. Anything.

He waited and waited and nothing happened. His eyes stung.

It was his fault, wasn’t it, for being dumb enough to trust a demon.

Geralt looked away, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted copper. The taste was unpleasant but familiar, grounding him. He shook his head and scrubbed at his eyes. He needed to get up and find Yennefer. He wasn’t sure what they could do or what he would say but he couldn’t stay here much longer. He would lose his mind.

Geralt gently brushed a thumb under one of Jaskier’s eyes, his big, bright blue eyes that were staring at him blankly, like he wasn’t even there. His stomach lurched and he gently moved, pushing Jaskier out of his lap. He went limply.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face as he stood up.

This could not happen. They didn’t go through all of that to still lose Jaskier in the end. It just wasn’t an option. Squaring his shoulders with a newfound determination, Geralt walked to the door.

He opened it and -

paused, stiffening, when he heard a quiet groan from behind him. Geralt’s hand tightened on the door frame, almost cracking the wood with his strength.

Slowly he turned and he almost sobbed at the sight of Jaskier sitting up by himself again, a hand pressed against his sweat-slick forehead. “Geralt?” he asked in what was probably the world’s smallest voice, a little hoarse. His hand fell from his forehead and he steadied Geralt with an unblinking, wide-eyed look. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Um. Wow, okay.”

“Jaskier,” he breathed, relieved to his bones. He rushed forward and paused near the bed, hands hovering in the air, wanting to reach out for him - _touch_ him - but not knowing if he was allowed the luxury, especially after everything. Jaskier smiled, a little unreadable, and reached up, offering his hand.

Geralt sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand, squeezing lightly. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier smacked his lips a few times. “My mouth feels like a desert,” he said in way of a proper reply.

Geralt laughed, short, and reached for the glass on the bedside table, handing it to Jaskier. Their fingers brushed and Geralt swallowed thickly. It was stupid; he was holding his hand and yet their fingers brushing still almost took Geralt’s breath away. Jaskier took a few sips before he sighed, satisfied, and Geralt moved the glass back out of the way.

“So, um.” Jaskier fidgeted. “What happened?”

Geralt ran his tongue over his molars, mulling over what he wanted to say. “We had trouble,” he admitted truthfully. “I was… I was afraid for a moment we wouldn’t be able to - ” he paused, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter; eventually we worked something out and he let you go.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, quick. “The demon just… _let me go_?” he asked skeptically.

“Well, not exactly,” he corrected, dread settling in the pit of his stomach. “We gave him a replacement.”

Jaskier didn’t look happy, as expected. He squeezed Geralt’s hand, hard. “What do you mean?”

Geralt was so tired of being judged for his decision. He frowned. “He was a bad man, Jaskier,” he said tersely. “Yen found him harassing some poor woman. Trust me, we did the right thing and…” Geralt stroked the back of Jaskier’s hand with his thumb. “I’d do it again and again and fucking _again_ if it meant getting you back.”

Jaskier hmmed, obviously deep in thought, as he peered down at their intertwined hands.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said. “I know it’s not what you would’ve wanted me to do, but - ”

Jaskier squeezed his hand. “No, it’s okay,” he said softly, and the words sounded genuine, so Geralt relaxed the tiniest bit, some of the dread unraveling in his stomach. “I should be the one apologizing,” he continued with a humorless laugh.

Geralt pressed his lips together. “You don’t have to - ” he started, but was quickly cut off by Jaskier.

“I killed people, Geralt,” he said, having a hard time keeping his voice even, “I mean, _I_ didn’t but I did, you know? I was stupid and weak and the demon _knew_ that. It wasn’t me, exactly, but - ” he looked at the palm of his hand, the one not currently intertwined with Geralt’s, his fingers twitched as his bottom lip trembled “ - I still have blood on my hands.”

Geralt shook his head and leaned in, close. “That wasn’t you, Jaskier. You’re not at fault for any of it.”

He sniffed, looking up. His eyelashes were wet. Geralt wanted to wrap him up in his arms and keep him safe, forever, from the big, bad world. It was unrealistic, he knew, but he didn’t care. For the moment, at least, he could do just that.

Scooting closer, he paused for a moment - to make sure Jaskier was okay with it - before he wrapped his arms around his trembling shoulders. Jaskier sniffled again and buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder.

“I was just so _scared_ , Geralt,” he said, muffled, “I didn’t want to… lose you and I - I thought I already had, and I wanted to fix things. _Gods_ , all I wanted was to go back and - and make things right and make you see me as - as a worthy - ”

Geralt brushed a hand down his back, light. “Stop it,” he shushed, not unkindly. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Jaskier nodded, sniffling loudly as he pulled back. He looked disgusting with red-rimmed eyes and snot running down his face. Geralt thought it was the most beautiful sight in the world and that really just proved he was helplessly in love, didn’t it? He almost laughed; in the beginning, he never thought he’d even consider the bard an actual friend and now, years later, here he was in love with him. Destiny really was a bitch, huh?

“I heard,” Jaskier whispered, bringing him back to the present. “Um, I heard all of it.”

Geralt stiffened as the words settled. “You mean…”

Jaskier nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, um. I was, like, out of it? But I could still hear and see everything.” He searched Geralt’s face. Geralt wondered what he was searching for. “Did you really mean all of it?”

Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I did.”

“Wow.” Jaskier cracked a smile, brief but bright as the sun. He shook his head and looked down, grabbing one of Geralt’s hands again. When he looked back up, he smiled again, almost shy. “I, um. I don’t think I need to tell you how I feel, do I?”

Geralt smiled ruefully. “Afraid the demon had a habit of spilling your secrets.”

Jaskier laughed, a little wet. “Well, that takes pressure off me, at least,” he said lightly. He stared at Geralt and he stared back. “I feel like we still, uh, need to have like… _so many conversations,_ ” he said, eyes flickering to Geralt’s mouth.

Geralt hated conversations but he knew he’d make an exception for Jaskier. He always did. “Yeah,” he agreed, glancing down at Jaskier’s mouth. His lips were dry and cracked and frankly not at all appealing and yet he still wanted to kiss him more than he wanted anything in the world.

“But we can, uh, save those for later, right?” he heard Jaskier ask.

The corners of Geralt’s mouth quirked up in a half-amused smirk. “Yeah,” he agreed again. “I think so.”

Jaskier nodded, once, twice. He was still staring at Geralt’s mouth. “Okay,” he said. “Good.” Then he lurched forward and kissed him. Geralt had been expecting it and yet it was still the biggest shock to his system he’d felt in a long time. Everything narrowed down to this moment, to the feeling of Jaskier’s lips, the sound of Jaskier’s pleased hum, the press of his hands on Geralt’s hips.

He reached up and cupped the back of Jaskier’s neck, kissing him back, slow and deep.

Yeah, things were kind of fucked up right now and yeah, they had a lot of conversations to be had but right now things were okay - better than they had been in weeks, and Geralt was going to melt in it. He was never going to take Jaskier for granted again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's over and im very sad but i hope this is the fluffy cute ending y'all were hoping for <3
> 
> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

**TWO MONTHS LATER**

Jaskier did not recover overnight, not that Geralt had been expecting him to. He had nightmares a lot, would wake up thrashing and sobbing, begging for Geralt to hold him and –

Well, that was a thing they were doing now. So he’d curl up around him on the blanket, and smile apologetically at Cirilla, who was always being pushed to the very far corner of the blanket, but she never looked upset.

Actually, that had been the surprising part – Cirilla adored Jaskier, and Jaskier had adored her right back.

After saving Jaskier, they’d traveled to pick her up and she’d thrown herself at Geralt and Yennefer as soon as the door opened. Then she’d pulled back and looked at Jaskier with hard eyes, obviously sizing him up, the poor lad, before she smiled and offered her hand.

_“Cirilla, but you can call me Ciri.”_

_“Jaskier, Your Highness,” he had responded with a bow and then Cirilla had laughed, and the rest was history._

Geralt was silently grateful because he did not have the energy after everything to deal with Cirilla hating his new – something. Lover, maybe. They still hadn’t discussed a lot of things but neither of them were in a rush. Geralt was content just holding Jaskier in his arms at night.

He was content to have Jaskier whisper sweet nothings in the crook of his neck. To kiss him, to –

Okay, they hadn’t actually been able to do much else, not with Cirilla around but that was okay. That just made the brief moments they got together, alone, all the better.

Like right now – they were staying at an inn in a small town and Cirilla had actually been the one to declare she was done sharing a room with the men and wanted one of her own. Geralt had never been against her having privacy, mind you, especially before all this, but he was just worried about what would happen if he didn’t have his eyes on her.

She had rolled her eyes, puffing angrily, and Jaskier had intercepted like a saint, pressing a hand to Geralt’s chest. “She’ll be right across the hall, Geralt,” he said, soft and soothing. “We’ll hear if anything happens.”

Geralt clenched his jaw, stared down at the young girl, a determined set to her eyebrows. Sighing, he admitted defeat and booked another room. He watched, leaning against the door frame, as Cirilla walked across the hall to her own room, a hop in her eyes.

She opened the door, turned, and paused, a grin on her face. “Have fun, boys,” and –

“Okay, that’s it,” Geralt growled. “She’s been spending way too much time with Yennefer.”

But Cirilla had long since closed the door. Jaskier chuckled, propping his chin on Geralt’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around the witcher’s waist. “But just think,” he whispered in his ear, “this is the first time we’ve been alone in two weeks.”

A shiver ran down Geralt’s spine as he turned around and stepped forward, pushing Jaskier into the room. He closed the door without looking. “Do you want this?” Geralt asked – he really was such a good man – even as Jaskier buried his face in the crook of his neck, sucking and licking and biting.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” Jaskier breathed, meaning it. He grabbed Geralt’s hands and placed them on his hips. He always had been so brave. “Touch me, Geralt.”

Geralt smirked and leaned in, pressing their lips together. He kissed him, slow and deep, conveying everything he couldn’t say. He walked them to the bed without breaking apart and the back of Jaskier’s knees hit the bed, buckling.

He fell back with a breathy laugh and Geralt fell on top of him, nuzzling his cheek. “Fuck, Jaskier.”

“I know,” he replied instantly, brushing a hand down Geralt’s back, “I know.”

Geralt sometimes still got – _worked_ up, remembering what he had happened. He didn’t have nightmares, like Jaskier, but he wasn’t a man of stone. He still felt it, sometimes. He nipped at Jaskier’s earlobe, pulling it between his teeth. “I almost lost you,” he said, a quiet admission.

He’d been trying to be more honest lately, and he hoped Jaskier appreciated it because it wasn’t easy.

“But you didn’t,” Jaskier responded, soft and airy. He pulled back and smoothed his hands down Geralt’s chest. “I’m here, Geralt. Exactly where I want to be,” he added after a moment because he really was the bravest person Geralt knew, always so open with his feelings.

Geralt respected that. Geralt was intimidated by it. “I’ll always protect you,” he said without even thinking about it. It was the truth. He was never letting Jaskier get hurt again, not on his watch. He brushed his hands down Jaskier’s side, who shuddered at the contact, and gripped his hips. “I – ”

It was so stupid; during his first confession, he’d told Jaskier he loved him but it was still hard for him to repeat, sometimes. He’d gone so long without letting himself love and now he had the most amazing man in front of him, watching him with adoration and it was all so overwhelming.

“Geralt,” he whispered, cupping the side of his neck, “I _know_.”

Geralt felt like a coward for taking the out Jaskier was giving him, ducking down and nipping at his shoulder. “I’ll make you feel so _good_ ,” he said because it was what he wanted to do. The truth, and it was easier to say.

Jaskier nuzzled his cheek and Geralt could feel him smiling. “You always do.”

After a round – okay, _two_ – of spectacular sex, Jaskier dozed off in Geralt’s arms. Geralt watched him sleep, feeling nothing but fondness for the young man. He reached up and brushed some hair out of Jaskier’s forehead, slightly sweat-slick from their – ah, _activities_.

Usually they washed off after sex but Jaskier had been so tired, Geralt had just wiped them off with one of his shirts. He smiled, soft, and buried his face in Jaskier’s hair, sniffing.

Jaskier smelled like oak and honey and _him_. It was his favorite scent in the world.

Geralt might not have felt the shift in the air, a tangible thing, if he wasn’t a witcher. He stiffened, arms wrapping tight and protective around Jaskier. He slowly lifted his head and his heart stopped dead in his chest at the sight of –

“ _You_ ,” he snarled quietly.

The demon was still using the body they had so graciously gifted him, but the man looked surprisingly young with the way the demon was contorting his face, a wild grin. Jaskier groaned in his sleep and turned his head, burying his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck. His heart started to beat again. He stroked Jaskier’s hips with his thumbs.

“Get out,” he growled, low. “I will murder you if Jaskier wakes up and – ”

The demon stepped closer, still grinning like Geralt had just told the world’s funniest joke. He tilted his head and looked at Jaskier almost thoughtfully, and Geralt ground his molars together. No, no, _no_. “What do you want?” he asked, barely able to stop his voice from wavering.

He’d just gotten him back. He couldn’t lose him again. He’d promised Jaskier he’d protect him.

“Stop your worrying,” the demon drawled, “I don’t want your boy back.”

A fire roared to life in the pit of Geralt’s stomach at _your boy._ Fuck, he was a goner. He didn’t believe the demon, of course, so he simply held Jaskier tighter. “Why are you here then?” he asked in a hushed voice. He really, really didn’t want Jaskier to wake up to the sight of his fucking nightmares, standing right in front of him, in the flesh.

The demon stepped closer, nearing the bed, and Geralt growled like a fucking animal. “I was just checking in,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “Calm down.”

Geralt showed his teeth. “Do you know how much he has suffered because of you? He’s having nightmares almost every fucking _night_.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He wasn’t interested in whatever the demon had to say. “Get _out_.”

Jaskier shifted in his arms again and he ran a hand down his back. The demon watched him. “I can take away his memories.” Geralt stiffened. He didn’t say anything. “Of me, of what happened when I was in control of him, what happened immediately after…”

“You mean my confession,” he said through clenched teeth.

The demon smiled, sickeningly sweet. “He would no longer have to live with what he did – ”

“ _He_ didn’t do anything!” Geralt snapped, fire in his veins. He looked down at Jaskier, who groaned and nuzzled closer. He sighed, relieved, and pressed a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head. “Get out,” he repeated. “I’m not interested in your – ”

“Is it really your decision?” the demon interrupted, still smiling. “You should ask him what _he_ wants.”

Geralt didn’t dignify him with a reply.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night,” the demon said, “I’ll respect Jaskier’s decision on the matter.”

Then he was gone.

The thing was, Geralt was a selfish man. He waited until the last possible second to tell Jaskier about last night, and when he did Jaskier smacked him, hard, on the arm. “You should’ve woken me up!” he said, eyes wild. “ _Geralt_.”

“I…” he said, “I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Jaskier visibly softened and stepped closer. Geralt’s body moved on instinct, wrapping his arms around the other man. Jaskier nosed at his jaw. “I know,” he said, soft, “but we’re in this together now, Geralt. We’re – ” he pulled back, an almost shy smile on his face. “We’re partners, right?”

Partners. Geralt liked the sound of that. He nodded. “So you don’t want to…”

“What?” Jaskier said with an almost hysterical laugh. “Have my memories erased? Uh, no, not really.”

Geralt rubbed his hands up and down Jaskier’s back. “But your nightmares…”

“– will go away,” Jaskier finished gently, cupping the side of Geralt’s face. He smiled up at him with all the love in the world. Geralt did not deserve any of it. “I just need time, Geralt. I’m not a delicate flower. People can break, yes, but we also heal.”

Geralt leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. He took a shaky breath. “Okay, I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier said, barely a whisper. “Now,” he pulled back and squared his shoulders. “Let me give this fucker a piece of my mind.”

– Except when the demon showed up, Jaskier froze in Geralt’s arms and couldn’t say anything.

Geralt had been expecting it but he’d hoped, for Jaskier’s sake, that it wouldn’t happen. Jaskier deserved his moment, deserved to take back his power, but trauma was not a forgiving thing. Or short-lived. He held him close, a warm comfort against his back.

“Jaskier,” the demon said, stepping closer. “It’s so nice to see you.”

Geralt splayed a hand across Jaskier’s stomach, protective. “Stand back.”

The demon sighed, heavy, but took a step back. He stared at Jaskier, who was trembling like a leaf in Geralt’s arms and _fuck_ , he should’ve found another way – he should’ve murdered that fucking demon when he had the chance, torn him from limb to limb –

“I will never forgive you,” Jaskier said suddenly, a little shaky, “but I would never do anything that changed what exists between Geralt and I.” He looked at the witcher and smiled, warm and soft and private. When he looked away again, his face had hardened, a mask of calm anger. “So thanks for the offer, but _fuck you._ ”

The demon sighed again, even heavier, shoulders slumping. “You always were hopeless, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s skin prickled and Geralt smoothed his hands down his arms. “Goodbye,” he said, simple as that, and turned around. Geralt could see he was struggling to keep it together – _Gods_ , he was so _brave_ , how had Geralt never noticed before? – and pulled him closer, letting him bury his face in his shoulder. He shook with quiet sobs.

When Geralt glanced up, the demon was gone. Looking back down, he tucked his face in Jaskier’s hair. “It’s okay,” he whispered, meaning it. “You’re okay.”

Surprisingly, somehow, that was the first night Jaskier slept without waking up once. He opened his eyes to Geralt’s sleeping face, peaceful and soft in his sleep. He reached up and brushed his fingertips down his jaw. “Hey.”

“Hmm,” was the reply he got.

Jaskier smiled, biting the inside of his cheek, and wiggled closer. “I’m happy.”

 _That_ at least got Geralt to open his eyes, an odd tilt to his lips. “Really?” he asked, almost disbelieving.

“I’m happy to be with you,” Jaskier said, meaning it. He pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering there for a second before he continued, “I’m happy to have met Ciri. I’m happy to know one of the most powerful sorceresses in the lands.”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched, almost a smirk. “I’m telling Yen you said that.”

Jaskier just rolled his eyes. “What I’m saying is… things are hard right now, but that’s okay.” He nosed at Geralt’s jaw with a soft sigh. “Because I’m exactly where I want to be.” He kissed his jaw, nipped at it playfully. “And I _know_ things will be okay. Not because of Destiny or – or anything like that,” he pulled back, “but because we all love each other.”

Geralt’s eyes stung with something like tears. He swallowed, thick. “Don’t let Yen hear you say that.”

“I won’t,” he promised in a soft whisper. He grinned, big, and a little watery. “I don’t need to hear you say it back,” he continued, “don’t think I do, but. I just – ” Jaskier leaned up and kissed him, soft and sweet. “I love you, Geralt.”

Geralt kissed him again, a little deeper. Jaskier hummed, content, snuggling closer. When they separated, Geralt reached up and brushed his thumb across Jaskier’s cheek. His skin was smooth again, no longer scratchy with stubble from the demon. The words caught in his throat. Jaskier smiled, so sweet and understanding, and rubbed their noses together.

“It’s okay, Geralt,” he said, and he meant it. And Geralt _knew_ he meant it.

Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. Jaskier deserved a brave man. Geralt didn’t know if he could ever truly be that, but he wanted to try. He took a deep breath and pressed their lips together, closing his eyes. He focused on all things Jaskier; the warmth of his skin, the sound of his breathing, the smell of his hair. “I love you, Jaskier,” he whispered.

Jaskier let out a small sob and Geralt opened his eyes. “I really, _really_ want to suck your dick right now,” Jaskier said with wet eyes, cutting through the tension, and _fuck_ , Geralt barked out a laugh, he loved this man so, so much.

“Well,” he drawled, smirking. “I’m not going to stop you.”

Jaskier grinned, biting his bottom lip. “Oh, I _know_.” He sat up and reached down, cupping Geralt’s half-hard cock through his underclothes. “Aren’t you glad we bought two rooms?”

Geralt laughed again, feeling the lightest he had in months – no, years. “Less talking,” he chided, and, well, Jaskier was nothing if not obedient.

(In bed, at least.)

Afterwards, they laid together, quiet and content in the afterglow. Jaskier sighed, eyelashes fluttering.

“We should visit Yennefer soon,” Jaskier said, tracing shapes in the palm of Geralt’s hand. His hands were scarred and calloused and Jaskier fucking _adored_ them. “It’s been too long; I’m sure Ciri and her miss each other.” He looked up, kissing Geralt’s cheek. “And I know you miss her, too.”

Geralt stiffened, “I – ”

“Shh,” Jaskier shushed, not unkindly. “It’s okay, Geralt. You two will forever be bonded. I’m okay with it.” He smiled, both shy and coy. “As long as you don’t bed her,” he added. Because he was only human.

Geralt nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head. “You don’t have to worry about that.” He was the happiest he’d ever been; he wasn’t going to do anything to destroy it. Not again. This time, he was going to let himself have this nice thing, however brief.

"Hmm," Jaskier snuggled closer and sighed, happy. "Goodnight, Geralt."

Geralt snorted, entirely fond, and brushed his hand down Jaskier's back. "It's eight in the morning, Jaskier."

"And what about it?" 

Geralt laughed, chest rumbling, and leaned in, burying his face in Jaskier's hair. "Good point." 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @ queermight and pls check out:  
> korrmin.tumblr.com/writing


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